Still I Fly
by Happyritas
Summary: "Sentiment is a chemical defect found on the losing side." Sherlock lived by this quote; Refusing to open his heart to anyone else. It is interesting how finding a injured girl in your bed could completely change this.
1. One

"Listen, what I said before John, I meant it. I don't have friends; I've just got one."

\- Sherlock

Chapter One:

"Sherlock?" John called helplessly, as he stumbled through the dark, thick forest. Heavy fog covered his surroundings, making it nearly impossible to see his hand in front of his face. "Sherlock!"

A few minutes had passed, and he heard no response. John was almost ready to give up, when suddenly a figure hit him in the chest, causing them both to fall down. Instinctively, John snapped out his hand gun that shined in the moonlight and pointed it at whatever was in front of him.

Even with the darkness, he was able to see a small, copper skinned girl, who looked no older than eight or nine. She rubbed her short, choppy, dark hair where he assumed was where she was hit. She wore raggedy old clothes that didn't look at all her size, but they didn't seem to bother her.

Finally, she looked up at him, her dark eyes filled with curiosity and... Fear? When the girl noticed that she was staring down the barrel of a gun, a shriek left her throat, and she scrambled back.

John blinked at the frightened girl, "Wha-?! Who are you?" He demanded, only causing her to whimper. He saw a dark silhouette of... He wasn't quite sure what they were. If he didn't know any better, he'd say they were wings.

But they couldn't have been. It was just his imagination, he told himself.

Suddenly, a soft, but audible howl riveted through the forest, and the girl sat up straighter, her eyes widening and she turned to the source. Not a second later, she scrambled to get up and swiftly ran away.

"W-Wait!" John shouted, going after the girl, but she seemed to disappear into the fog. Instead, he found Sherlock, who was equally wide eyed and shocked. "Sherlock? What's wrong?"

"It was the hellhound!" Henry Knight exclaimed frantically, "We saw it!"

John turned to his partner, "Sherlock?" He said, again, waiting for his answer.

Sherlock stared at him, John was surprised when he recognized fear in his eyes for a few seconds, before it disappeared and turned into slight anger, "Nothing. I saw nothing," he spat, walking away.

"Wha-What?" Henry stammered, "No, you saw it, we both saw it. Why... Are you joking? Tell me you saw it!" When he earned no reply, he turned to John, his voice increasing with barely withheld panic, "Why won't he say he saw it?"

"I-I don't know," he said with a hefty sigh. "Look, it's been a long night. How 'bout we head back to the house. I'm sure Sherlock'll have a answer in the morning." This was a blatant lie. Sherlock was scared, dare he say terrified, which was far different than his usual self-confidence and running mouth. How he would come up with a solution for a supposed 'hellhound' was far beyond him.

As the two walked back to Henry's flat, John's mind trailed back to the girl he saw. He hadn't heard anyone talk about a young girl 'haunting' the Dewey Hollows, so who exactly was she. He was certain that definitely did not see wings. It was just his imagination.

But... A small part of his him felt like they were very real.

So this is what flying felt like... She thought softly to herself as she felt the wind go through her dark wings as she soared through the air. Back in the School, they wouldn't let them go outside much, with the exception of testing their wings. She had never been able to go into the air like this and actually fly. It felt... Good.

She could see the sun peaking over the clouds, causing rays of multiple colors she had never seen before streak through the dark sky. She could only stare awe, having no words to describe the scene playing before her. She had never seen anything like it, she had never had the chance to see anything like it.

But, the moment was far too short lived when she saw something come from behind me. A large dark figure flew behind her, followed by a two others. Her eyes widened, she'd be able to spot their bulky figures and warped faces anywhere. They were Erasers.

She quickly dove, going towards the ground the Erasers following suit. A shot rang out, as she swerved through the air, barely dodging a lethal bullet.

She flew faster, forcing her wings to flap as fast as they could, but it wasn't enough to outfly the strong Erasers behind her. An Eraser caught up to her, grabbing its thick, clawed hands around her ankle. It snapped it's wings shut, falling to the ground, with her falling with it.

A loud scream escaped her mouth, as he clawed and hit at it's hand, shaking her leg while doing so. The air rushing through her body, making her hair fly madly around her, as she tried to fly away at the same time, but her wings couldn't support both of them. Salty tears escaped her eyes as they neared the ground, when suddenly, his grip loosened.

She gave her foot a good yank, just as they hit the trees beneath them. A mangled cry of terror escaped it's mouth as it hit the ground, no longer moving.

She fell through several branches, scratching her arms and drawing blood, but she was able to hang onto a particularly thick one. The branch creaked, nearly snapping under her weight. The other Erasers fell behind her as she let herself drop to the ground, in case the branch snapped under her. Both of the Erasers were twice her size and armed.

They glanced over at the dead Eraser, deep, low growls rumbling in their throats, and they glowered at her. They both jumped, arms outstretched and ready to strangle her. She sidestepped, letting them collide with each other, and then glare at her. One of them took out a gun, the other a jagged blade.

The one with the blade attacked, slashing at me, aiming for my chest. The other one was aiming at her, waiting for a good chance to shoot.

She grabbed tightly to the Eraser's muscled arm, just before it could stab her, and hit it over her knee. The sudden pain made the Eraser yelp and lose grip of his knife. I quickly snatched it and threw it up at the tree.

The Eraser quickly used his free hand to grab unto her throat, and pushed her against a tree. Oxygen quickly leaving her body as he bared his sharp teeth, his eyes growing with unleashed fury. He chomped down on her shoulder, making her scream. His sharp teeth easily cutting through tendons and nerves, causing a blinding pain to go through her body.

She shakily snatched the handgun off the waist of the Eraser with my other hand. She unclicked the safety and quickly shot him several times in the head.

The Eraser's hand on her neck loosened and a whimper escaped his mouth before he finally fell to the ground. She panted, greedily gasping in air. She heard the Eraser's heavy boots crunch on the dead leaves on the ground, and she looked up to see she was staring down at a gun, again.

He clicked it, and was about to shoot, but she quickly hit it with her good hand, making him shoot a bullet on the side of her thigh opposed to her head. She screamed in pain, as the Eraser moved it's gun again to shoot, but she was faster, using the one she got off the dead Eraser to shoot it in the chest.

His eyes widened and he stumbled back, he moved his gun to take another shot, but then the tree creaked overhead, and as if on cue, the thick branch fell, and landed directly on top of him.

The forest was a dead silent and she closed her eyes tightly, tears threatening to spill from them. Instead, she took a shuddering breath, and slowly tried to get up.

Pain shot through her leg and shoulders, but she bit down on her lip to keep herself from shouting. Several minutes passed and a blood was still coming out of her leg and shoulder, but she was able to get back up. Putting her weight on her good leg, she held onto the tree, she forced her wings to carry her away.

Every time she had moved her leg or arm, pain went rocketed through her body. A sob rose in her throat, but she kept flying. Get out of here, she told herself. Leave. Find a place to hide.

And so she did. She forced her wings to fly, faster and farther away, and into the dawn. She noticed that the multicolored streaks of sky had now morphed into a a morbid blood red.

By the time she realized she had been losing too much blood, it was too late.

It was night now, she could see the moon glowing brightly in the sky. She had been flying at a slow pace all day. Her wings were beginning to droop slightly with exhaustion from not taking even a single break. She was overhead a large city that was a very loud and colorful, but the bright colors were beginning to blend together. She couldn't tell left from right. Her head hurt from all the loud noises that seemed to amplify in her ears.

Sleep. She needs sleep. She needs to rest, she told herself. Rest. Go to sleep. Sleep...

Her wings curled in as she dropped out of the sky, and her eyes fluttered closed. A loud honking noise made her eyes snap back open. She was falling into the city!

Before she could hit one of the moving things on the ground, she straightened her wings, and instead crash landed on top of a building.

She choked back a sob as her body made contact with the solid concrete, the closing wound in her shoulder and leg reopening and more blood spilling out.

She grounded my teeth together to keep her from shouting out and she panted heavily. She's okay, she's okay, she told herself, glancing around for any type of shelter that could possible cover her.

The roof was practically empty, except for a small latch on near the side. She shakily stood up, trying desperately not to put any weight on her hurt leg, as she hobbled over to the latch, and pulled it open.

Much to her luck, it was unlocked, allowing her to slip through and land on a small flight of stairs. She softly closed the square door behind her, and hoped down the few steps.

The first door she found had the numbers '221A' displayed on the center. She tried the knob, only to find it locked. She sighed in disappointment, going down another flight of steps, and found another door this one said '221B'.

She tried the knob, and the door slowly creaked open. A small smile fell on her lips, as she quietly entered the room, shutting the door behind her.

It was dark, but light from the windows filtered through the curtains, so she was able to see a very cluttered room, by the look of it, at least. There was things all over the table and floors, that she wasn't able to describe.

The room also smelt sharply of chemicals, and... Whitecoats, which made her stomach churn, but she fought the urge to run out of the room. She had no more energy to fly. She had to stay here, at least until she could leave again.

She slowly walked down the hall, gingerly favouring her good leg, spotting a door that was halfway opened and revealed a white bed and pillow. Excitement filled through her, as she rushed to the room, being extra careful not to mess up her bleeding leg more than it already was, and laid in the bed. There was no covers, but she didn't mind the cold, seeing she never had one when she was in her cage.

Exhaustion seemed to consume her as she slowly drifted off to sleep.


	2. Two

"Every fairy tale needs a good old-fashioned villain" –Moriarty

Chapter Two:

John and Sherlock entered their flat, all the lights were out, probably the doings of Mrs. Hudson, seeing Sherlock would usually leave the lights on.

John yawned, it had been a very long day, and he was more than ready to go sleep in his bed. "I'm going to sleep," he told his flat mate as he trudged to his room. "Please, don't play your violin too loudly."

Sherlock didn't answer, he was already too engulfed in his laptop. John sighed as he walked to his room, typical of him. After having a great big case on imaginary hellhounds and government conspiracies, he'd immediately go back to work.

John shook his head as he opened his door, his hands searching for the familiar light switch on the wall. Clicking it on, he looked at his bed and his eyes widened, "Bloody hell!" He shouted.

"What is it?" Sherlock called in boredom from the sitting room, but John was too stunned to answer. A frown formed on the man's face, "John?" He said, getting up and setting his laptop aside, walking to his friend's room.

He found the gray-haired man staring directly at his bed, his jaw dropped. Sherlock rolled his eyes, looking in his room, "What are you gawking..." His eyes widened, staring at the dark-skinned girl, fast asleep on his bed. There was a large blood stain on her leg and shoulder, but behind that, were two, large, bulky black wings. "... Over..."

"She's real," John said in a whisper tone. He had told Sherlock about seeing the girl in the fog, but Sherlock kept insisting that it had been his imagination, and John had believed him. Until this moment, that is.

"She's injured," Sherlock stated flatly, but not moving a muscle to help her. "You're the doctor. Help her."

"She has wings," John gasped.

"You should help her."

"Wings, Sherlock. She has actual, proper... Wings."

"She may bleed to death."

"We should take her to the hospital. Where did she come from? How did she get in here!?" Suddenly, the girl stirred, making them both move back. Her eyes fluttered open, and sleepily settled on the two men. Absent-mindedly, the girl closed them once again, ignoring the sight.

"Is she—?" before John could finish, her eyes snapped back open, filled with shock and fear, as she scrambled to get off his bed. She moved her arm, but then quickly regretted it. Her teeth, gritted in pain and she gripped her arm.

At the sudden movement, her the wound in her leg seemed to suddenly hurt as well. She yelped in pain, but still moved away from the two men, until she finally hit the ground.

Sherlock and John both blinked, having no utter clue how to approach the situation. Neither Sherlock nor John has dealt with children, especially injured, winged ones.

The young girl's first instinct was to hide, which she found possible by scrambling underneath the bed, the only downfall was that she wasn't able to move her arm or leg very well. That and her wing tips stuck out on the sides.

John had to suppress a laugh at the surreal situation. She really tried to hide under a bed to get away from the two. They both exchanged looks, waiting for the other to go help the girl. Finally, John stepped forward, "Uh... Hello?" He greeted, although it came out more of a awkward question. "I'm–I'm John and that's my flatmate Sherlock. What's your name?"

No response. John looked back at Sherlock, who shrugged, "Uh, we're not going to hurt you. I promise." There was silence. John was about ready to give up until a small, soft, voice emerged from under the bed.

"Name."

John looked back, "Yeah, what's your name?"

"... Name?"

Sherlock frowned, catching on to what she was doing very easily. John, however, did not, "What's your name?" He paused for a second, "You don't have to be scared you can tell us."

"Scared."

John frowned, "You're scared?" No response.

"Ask her if she's wounded," Sherlock said, crossing his arms over his chest.

John blinked, "Uh... Are you wounded?"

"Wo... Woun..." She stopped herself, not being able to repeat the word.

"Are you hurt?"

"Hurt."

"Where? Can you show me? I'm a doctor, I can help."

"Doctor!" Her voice was urgent, scared. The bed moved, and the end of the girl's wings disappeared underneath the bed.

Sherlock made a mental note that she was scared of doctors. "Hey? Kid, are you okay?" John called helplessly, turning to Sherlock. "What'd I do?"

"You mentioned doctors," he replied, "She doesn't like those."

"How do you know that?" He hissed.

"Because you said it, and she moved away. Basic flight or fight instinct. She's too injured to fight so she's trying to hide herself." He ducked down, taking John's spot. "Hello there. I'm assuming that you flew into our flat, so you must be hungry. We have food, if you want some."

"F... Food...?"

"You can have some if you come out."

There was silence, until they finally heard scuffling and movement, and then a small head popped up from the other side of the bed. In the lamplight, they were able to see that her dull hazel eyes were a stained red. She had been crying.

Sherlock faked a smile, "See? Wasn't that hard."

Her wings folded behind her, and she slowly stood up. Now, Sherlock was able to see the large bite marks on her arm, larger than any normal creature would be able to do, and the large wound on her leg, where something had grazed her thigh, most likely a bullet. It was on the side, but it was also very wide, almost lodging itself in her leg. There were also dark bruises around her neck showing signs of strangling.

"John, why don't you go work on something to eat," Sherlock said, not taking his eyes off the girl, who was also staring cautiously at him. He didn't have to be told twice because he hurried out of the room and in the kitchen to look for something in the fridge that wasn't some kind of Darwinism.

Sherlock and the girl still haven't broken their gazes, "How about we sit down," he suggested, motioning for the bed. He sat down, leaving space for the girl to sit beside him.

Slowly, she limped over, sitting at least an arms length from the man, her cautious stare not leaving.

Now having a better look at the girl, he was able to see a faded black tattoos on her ankles. One one of them said 'T.S. G.54' on her right, her left saying, 'Leo'. He could easily deduce that 'T.S' meant 'Test Subject', and that the 'G' could stand for 'Generation', however, he didn't know what 'Leo' meant.

"Is that your name? Leo?" He questioned, carefully, and her eyes widened.

"Leo? Leo!" She cried. She obviously did not like that word either.

"Leona," he said, easily changing the word, and she calmed down.

"Le... Leona?" She had never heard this word before.

"Is that what you would like to be called?"

"Leona..." She gave a small nod. "Leona."

This was a start, "Leona, how did you get hurt?" She froze, her lips curling into a frown, and she stayed silent. He decided to ask another question, "Would you like me to help you?" He pointed to her shoulder, but she jumped away. He quickly retracted his hand, waiting for her.

"Sherlock," John called from the other room, "I'm going to run to the store. Don't do anything silly," he warned his flat mate as he left the apartment.

Sherlock turned back to the girl, "Sh... Shee?" She said, trying to pronounce his name.

"Sherlock," he said, aiding her.

"She... Shee..." Leona frowned, giving up.

Sherlock decided to get back on topic. Teaching her to pronounce his name could be done at a later time. "Your shoulder," he said, this time pointing to his own arm. "May I see it?"

She blinked, looking down at her own shoulder reluctantly. Finally, she moved carefully, positioning herself so he could see her injured shoulder.

Definitely bite marks, Sherlock frowned, but from what he was not so sure. He wanted to say a wolf, or rabid animal, but the marks were far too wide apart. And besides, a wolf wouldn't be able to give her a bullet wound.

From being this close, he was also able to see small pink lines on her skin too, along with little splinters sticking out of her skin. There were even a few pine leaves on her clothes.

So she was in a forest, but there isn't a pine forest anywhere in London, and looking at all the pine forests in England would be like a needle in a haystack.

He spotted several droplets of blood in her hair, but there were no injuries on her head, that he knew of. Most likely from her attackers. Judging by the bruises of her neck, her attackers had large hands. They were obviously strong.

So strong man/men attacked her in the forest. They strangled her, and shot her in the side of the leg — their aim wasn't the sharpest. They also managed to give her a shoulder bite that resembled a wolf's but its teeth are far too far apart and too large. And he couldn't ask her, she could only repeat what he said.

For right now, Sherlock decided to get her shoulder and leg wrapped up. "I will get the first aid kit, stay here," he ordered the girl, who didn't seem to be moving from that spot anyway, and left the room.

He searched the closet for the first aid kit, but found nothing of the sort. He frowned, going to the steps, "Mrs. Hudson!" He called, and minutes later, the older woman trotted up the wooden steps.

"What is going on?" She demanded, her tone gravelly and sassy at the same time. Per usual. "John just went on a milk run and it's nearly ten after!"

"Yes, I know. You wouldn't happen to have the first aid kit..." He trailed off, waiting for an answer.

"Yes, it's in the back room," she replied.

"Could you fetch it?"

"Fine," she huffed, making her way down the steps again.

He smirked, and went back to Leona, who had moved and was now looking at a picture frame on top of a dresser. "Jon...?" She murmured, staring at it, confusedly.

"It's a picture," he replied. "A device called a camera makes it. The light from the object reflexes off the camera and hits the lens at different angles. The lens will focus in on the light to a certain point called the focal point and creates a real image. The image is then projected onto a film, and then the shutter opens causing light to go through. Then the light in the film is so advances, causing chemical reactions, then the shutter closes and the unexposed piece of film is ready for the next picture."

Leona nodded as he talked, as if she understood what he had just said. "Here you go, Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson's voice called from the sitting room, and he strides over, gingerly taking the red and white box from the woman.

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson," he called as he hurried back to his room.

"What did you need it for—?" She didn't get to finish because the wooden door was closed, keeping her from seeing the winged girl.

Sherlock turned back to her, "Sit down," he ordered, and she slowly moved back to the bed. He set the box beside her and pulled out the rubbing alcohol, cotton balls and bandages. He poured a bit of the rubbing alcohol on a cotton ball, "Let me see your shoulder," he said, motioning to his shoulder. Again, she moved her shoulder towards him.

Sherlock gently dabbed the alcoholic solution on her shoulder. As soon as he made contact, a short hissing sound of pain released from Leona's mouth, and she moved away.

"It's going to hurt, so you might as well get it over with," he rolled his eyes, waiting for her to move again. After staring at him for several minutes, she finally moved back so he could clean it again. He noticed how she bit her lip — there were other dark bruises on her lip as well, so he could tell it was a nasty habit — and drove her nails into the bed. She was keeping herself from jumping away from him.

Finally, he finished, and began to wrap it up. The girl shivered whenever his cool fingers touched her skin, nearly flinching away. She didn't like being touched, he thought to himself as he finished wrapping it up, noted.

"Sherlock," John called from outside the door, before creaking it open. Leona visibly tensed, staring at the gray-haired man.

"John, stay exactly where you are," Sherlock said quickly. He was already gaining her trust, he didn't want to lose it again, "Do not move."

Following his orders, the man froze, "What's wrong?" He asked, staring at the girl. In his hand was a white bag, and the scent of chips wafted out of it.

Leona sniffed, smelling the food. Both of them were able to hear her stomach rumble painfully. "Take out the chips, John," Sherlock ordered. John carefully brought out the bag of chips. The scent of fried potatoes amplifies, nearly making the girl tremble. She has never smelt chips before, so confusion layers her face, but drool rises in her mouth.

Sherlock takes the food from him, "Do you want some?" He asked carefully, holding out the small, steaming box to her. She stared at him, then at the box, then back at him. Sherlock shakes the box tauntingly, and slowly she takes the box from him.

Easily prying it open, she was able to take a single chip out. She is still very confused, but she nibbled at the end of it anyway.

She crinkled her nose, the unfamiliar taste of salt dancing in her mouth, but nonetheless, it was food, something she didn't get very often, so she ate it. Reaching into the box again, she pulls out several others, and stuffed them in her mouth. Again and again, she goes back into the box, getting handfuls of chips, easily eating them, also dropping crumbs everywhere, but eventually the box grows empty.

Sherlock and John simply watched the girl, as she dropped the box on the floor, discarding it lazily. She turned back to Sherlock, waiting to see if he had anymore, but John had only brought one box.

Sherlock moved forward, going for her leg now. With the cotton ball dabbed in alcohol in one hand, Leona submits, letting him clean the wound easily and wraps it up with the bandage.

"Now that you're all patched up," Sherlock began, standing up and staring down at the girl. He helped her, but he was dying for answers as to how she got here and how the hell she had wings. "How did you get here?"

She frowned for a second. Then she rose her wings, making the ends of it hit the sides of the small room. John tensed as she knocked off the picture on his dresser. Sherlock watched as she made a flapping notion with her wings.

"You flew here?" He said and she gave a small nod.

"Flew," she echoed.

"Where did you come from? How do you have wings?" Another frown, and she looked around. He watched as she spotted a white robe hanging off John's closet door.

She quickly got up, snatching it off the hook, and draped it over her shoulders, and pushing her arms through the sleeves. She folded her wings behind her back, causing it to have a small lump where her wings were.

She looked down at herself, frowning again. She hobbled over to the nightstand, plucking off a pen and tucking it in the chest pocket. Then she moved to show John and Sherlock.

John blinked, "What's that supposed to mean?" He frowned.

Sherlock on the other hand was quite fascinated. Or shocked, he didn't know which. His voice was low, dangerous even, "You were experimented on. For how long?" Her head quirks to the side, not understanding the word.

John was confused as well, "Experimented on? What makes you think that?"

"Think John," he growled. "She has doesn't like doctors, she's trying to show us a lab coat, and she has bloody wings. What do you think that means?" John fell silent as she girl slipped out of the coat, resting it on the floor.

John glanced at the analog clock on his nightstand, 23:21 PM, "Sherlock, it's getting late. We should let her sleep and talk about it tomorrow," when Sherlock didn't budge, he continued. "She's a kid, she'll need more sleep."

Sherlock frowned stubbornly, but looked at the girl. Dark circles hung under her eyes and her wings drooped slightly, the ends touching the wooden floor. John was right, Leona was a child, and she would need to sleep more, especially with her injuries. "Fine," he agreed, standing up straight. A blizzard of questions still lingered in his head, but... He could wait until tomorrow. "Go to sleep, we'll be back tomorrow," he commanded the girl, pointing to the bed.

Understanding his words, she moved and sat in the center of the bed, staring at the two of them. John frowned, "Uh, where am I supposed...?" The words died away as Sherlock left the room, disregarding his question completely.

The man sighed, "I guess I'll go sleep on the couch," he muttered, exiting the room. "'Night," he flipped the light switch on the wall off, and disappeared down the hallway.

Leona sat in the darkness, in the least bit, grateful he left the door open. "Shee...?" She called, although the curly-dark haired man did not answer. "Shee?" She tried again, only to earn the same response.

She frowned to herself, a knot churning in her gut, "Shee..."

Sherlock woke up the next morning and immediately knew something was not right. He glanced down to see Leona curled up against his chest, her left wings was out, and covered the both of them. Soft, short gasps escaped her small lips and her eyes were closed delicately.

"Leona?" He said, his voice still thick with sleep. The girl didn't budge, and he his lip curled into a frustrated frown. "Leona," he called again. This time, it wasn't a question and much louder than the last.

The young girl's eyes fluttered open, and she looked up at Sherlock, a small smile made its way on her lips, "Shee...!"

"Why are you in my room?" He demanded, almost grumpily. It was early. Too early. Did John put her in here?

"Room?" She echoed, "Shee..." She snuggled into his chest, closing her eyes once again.

"No, Leona, why are you in my room? Don't go to sleep!" He huffed, but she was sleeping, again. "Leona!" When she didn't wake up, he sighed. He might as well get ready for the day.

He moved to push up off the bed, only to have her dark wing push him back down. He blinked, trying to get back up, but her wing was holding him back, like an anchor on his chest. "Leona!" He hissed, trying to wiggle his way out from under her large wing.

His hand brushed against her wing and suddenly, a soft purring noise escaped her lips. He paused, staring at her. Then, he stroked her wing again, and another purring noise followed, and her wing twitched.

He quickly began to rub her wing soothingly, slowly closing it, as he moved away from her grasp. Soon he was standing up, and out of the bed. She was still sleep, having not yet noticed that he escaped her sleepy hold against him.

He sighed, heading to the bathroom to shower and get ready for the day. He decided to wake the girl up after he finished.

Sherlock came out of the bathroom and back into the room ten minutes later, and found the young girl curled up in the heavy covers. When he opened the door, she turned to him, a large, goofy grin growing on her face, and her dulled hazel eyes lit up, "Shee!" She cried in excitement, scrambling to get out of the blankets and greet him.

Unfortunately, the blankets wrapped around her body disagreed with her, causing her to trip and fall into a small pile of covers, wings, and a small person at his feet.

Sherlock sighed, waiting for the girl to untangle herself, but when her movements became more frantic and a small desperate cry erupted from the pile, he realized that she was stuck.

Another sigh, as he bent down to help her release herself from the blankets, separating it from her. "There," he finally said once he finished.

Having gotten dressed in the restroom — a feat he didn't really enjoy, but with the small girl in his room, he decided that he'd rather not change in front of her — he sat on the bed, waiting for her to recompose herself.

Leona looked up at him, a smile on her face, "Shee!" She cried happily, and he sighed.

"Sherlock," he corrected, not that it would help.

"Shee?" Her head tilted to the side, making her large, messy curls fall that way as well. Sherlock saw dirt particles fall out of her hair with the movement. She probably has never taken those dirty rags that she called clothing off. She probably didn't notice it, but it must've been really uncomfortable, and it reeked.

"C'mon, let see if John'll get you washed up," he said, leading the girl out of the room.

John sat on the small couch, typing up his report from his last case. He was going to call it 'The Hounds of Baskerville'. "Good morning," he greeted the two, smiling at Leona.

"She needs to be washed," Sherlock said bluntly.

John blinked, "So...?"

"So, wash her."

"Wha—!? I'm not going to wash her!" John said, in more of a low hissing whisper.

"Then run her a bath," Sherlock rolled his eyes, going over to the laptop.

John sighed, "Fine. But you're making breakfast," he huffed, bringing Leona to the bathroom.

He was able to run the bath with ease. Once he finished, he — very awkwardly — instructed her to strip her clothes and wash her person. Leona seemed to understand and he was more than eager to leave the small bathroom and finish his report.

Luckily, Leona was able to wash and get re-dressed without any issues, and went back into the sitting room, finding Sherlock and John. "Shee!" She exclaimed, running over and jumping on his lap. Thankfully, Sherlock was able to place the laptop on the table beside him before she did any real damage.

Sherlock's eyes turned to saucers at the collision, "Aack!" He gasped, as she wrapped her wings around him tightly. Meanwhile, John was gasping for air because he was laughing so much. "L–Leona!" Sherlock gasped, attempting to pry the girl off him.

Eventually, he was able to get her off him, and set the girl on the ground, at least an arm's length from him. "John... Pull up a chair for her," he grumbled, rubbing his neck that was pretty sore from her wrapping her arms around it.

John only nodded, wiping tears from his eyes from laughing so hard, and went to go pull up a wooden chair for the girl. Leona reluctantly sat in the chair, but she didn't seem to like it very much, because her wings were positioned awkwardly, but she didn't complain.

"First of all, what attacked you, Leona?" Sherlock asked, crossing his arms over his chest. Leona frowned, not having a word to describe what attacked her.

"Here," John said, handing her a notepad and a pen, which she accepted gratefully. Although her fingering for the pen was very wrong, showing that she had never held a pen, or any other writing utensil for that matter, she was able to understand how to use it easily and began to draw.

She finished minutes later, and showed the duo. Sherlock frowned, the drawing wasn't perfect, but he was able to have a general understand of the... Thing that attacked her.

John looked over at the sheet, "Is that what I think it is?" He said in shocked tone.

"A werewolf," Sherlock nearly rolled his eyes. First hellhounds, then a girl with wings, now bloody werewolves!? "You were attacked... By a werewolf?"

She shook her head, no. "E... Eraser." They both blinked, neither one of them has ever said this word to her, so where did she hear it?

"Did you just say 'Eraser'?" John frowned, Sherlock turned to him.

"Does that mean something to you?" Sherlock asked.

"Not much. Back in the war, there was talk about bringing in new recruits. I didn't know much about them, honestly. They were brought in by the government and nicknamed 'Erasers', for some reason. We never got to see them, they were like a 'secret squad', really. Nobody knew much about them and nobody asked. Then, one day, they all disappeared."

"What happened?"

John shrugged, "Nobody knows," John paused. "Why don't we just ask Mycroft. Surely he'd know, something about her and—"

"Definitely not."

John scoffed, "If this is a sibling thing then—"

"It isn't. I've told you before, Mycroft is the British Government. If anyone would know what happened to her or to those Erasers, then it'd be him."

"Then why don't we call him?"

"Because," Sherlock rolled his eyes at John's slowness, "Having a child with wings obviously is a big national secret. If anything, he'd be more than happy to take her away than help."

John's mouth made a small 'o', understandingly, just as Sherlock's phone buzzed. Speak of the devil, he thought bitterly to himself, reading the text message from his older brother.

'We need to talk,' was displayed across the screen.

"Mycroft is coming over," Sherlock announced, typing a reply.

'Can't. Working on a case -SH.'

"What!?" John exclaimed, his eyes widening.

'We need to talk. It's urgent.' was his brother's reply.

"We need to hide her," John continued, taking the girl by the hand, leading her out of the room.

"Shee!" She exclaimed, trying to pull away, but John dragged her into his room.

"Stay here," he ordered the girl, who was frowning, her dull hazel eyes wide with a combination of fear and shock. He sighed, thinking of a explanation to calm her down, "Everything's okay. We just have a... Friend coming over. Sherlock and I will be right back, promise."

"Shee..." She murmured before he closed to door, just as he heard front door opening.

"Hello brother," Mycroft greeted, stepping into the room. He was alone, but a shiny leather briefcase was in his hands. "As I stated, we need to talk."

"What do you want, Mycroft?" Sherlock said, annoyance layering his voice.

"It has come to my attention that you just finished a case in Baskerville recently," he said, swiftly moving to the chair Leona once sat in, and crossed a leg over his thigh.

"What of it?"

"Recently, there has been a... Disappearance of one of the animals they studied there," he explained, staring straight at Sherlock. "You wouldn't happen to know something of this, would you?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Sherlock lied, keeping a perfectly straight face. "If that's all you came to waste my time with, then leave."

"Actually, I have a case for you," his brother said, pulling up the briefcase and handing it to him. "I would like for you to locate the animal and bring it to the laboratory."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed, "Sorry brother," he said, trying to hold back the urge to strangle him. "I don't work 'delivery boy' cases."

"You would receive compensation, of course," Mycroft continued. "It's just an animal, all I'm asking you to do is find it and bring it back," he paused.

"Let's say I can't bring 'it' back. Then what?"

Mycroft's eyes narrowed, "It a dangerous threat, a rabid animal if you will."

"So?"

"So, if you cannot contain it, then kill it."


	3. Three

"Oh, I may be on the side of the angels, but don't think for one second that I am one of them."

— Sherlock Holmes

Chapter Three:

Mycroft soon left after that, leaving the briefcase filled with what Sherlock assumed was papers for the case he was definitely not going to work.

He stared out the window, silence deafening the atmosphere. John sat across from him in equal silence, thinking over Mycroft's words.

Several minutes of tense silence passed before John spoke up, "Are you going to—?"

"No," he replied curtly. "I'm going to tell my brother we're not going to take the case."

"What if someone finds her?"

"They won't."

John scoffed, "Why would Mycroft have us kill a child?"

"He doesn't think of her as a child. He thinks she's a rabid animal that needs to be put down if she gets too dangerous," his words were sharp and cut like a blade, but they both knew it was true.

"What could be so dangerous about her?" John asked, taking the briefcase, and clicking it open. Sherlock peered over, looking at the contents inside.

Sherlock's assumptions were correct, per usual, there was a small stack of papers in the briefcase. But, what he didn't expect was the silvery handgun that rested on top and pack of bullets beside it. Beside the bullets, were a few darts filled with what looked like a tranquilizing chemicals.

Sherlock scoffed, looking away as John sifted through the papers. "It's just papers on a 'excessively large' Black Eagle," John said, skimming through the rest.

A soft cry resonated through the room, making the two men turn to each other. "Leona," John said, remembering that he left her in his room.

Sherlock got up, striding over to his flat mate's door, which was closed, and opened it. The heavy curtains were drawn and the lights were off, causing the room to be pretty dark.

Leona sat on the bed, her knees drawn to her chest, and her head was placed securely in them. Her large wings wrapped around her body tightly, but he could see how the feathers on her wings shaking in fear, along with the rest of her trembling body. "Leona?" He said, carefully approached the girl.

She looked up, tears staining her cheeks, "... Shee...?" She whispered, but her voice cracked. She was terrified.

John quickly came in behind Sherlock, a worried expression on his face. She glanced over to him, "What's wrong with her? Why is it so dark in here?" He asked, flipping the light switch, allowing the room to brighten significantly.

A sigh of relief escaped the girl's mouth, "Dark," she muttered, taking a shuddering breath.

"Dark?" John frowned, but then realization dawned on him, "She's scared of the dark."

"Why would she be scared of the dark?" Sherlock frowned, looking back at the girl. "That's silly."

John sighed at the unmistaken apathy in his friend's voice. "Sometimes, it's the things that people's experienced in the dark that scares them, Sherlock." John helped the girl off the bed, grabbing the tissue box aiding her with cleaning herself up.

The three of them walked back in the sitting room, much to their surprise, finding Mrs. Hudson. "Sherlock, do you still have the first—" she stopped, noticing the small girl with wings beside John. "... Oh, my—"

"It's not what it looks like!" John exclaimed while Sherlock simply shrugged saying, "When we found her, she had wings."

Mrs. Hudson gaped, staring at the girl, who was hiding shyly behind John, although part of her wings did poke out. "Leona, meet Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock said, gesturing to the older woman.

"I thought we were going to keep her secret!" John hissed at Sherlock, who rolled his eyes.

"It was only a matter of time before she found out," he shrugged. "Better sooner than later," he turned back to the girl. "C'mon now, don't be rude."

Leona frowned, but moved anyway. Her wings were pressed against her back, in an attempt to hide them, "H... Hutson," she repeated carefully, and gave the woman a sheepish smile.

"Where did she come from?" She asked.

"We're still working that out," Sherlock answered.

Mrs. Hudson looked her over, "Has she eaten yet?" The two men exchanged glances, answering her question. "Really? You forgot to feed her? And what are those rags she's wearing? Did you give her that, John!? You should know better!"

John gaped, unable to answer her flurry of comments, as she continued, "She needs some real clothes and food. Come on, sweetheart, I'm sure I can find some clothes for you to wear." Mrs. Hudson proceeded in taking her by the hand and dragging her away from the two older men. A yelp of surprise escaped her mouth before she disappeared out of the room.

An hour later, Mrs. Hudson came back with Leona in tow. Now, she was out of the dirty, raggedy clothes she once wore, and had on a larger tee-shirt with a faded animated drawing and jeans that looked worn one-too-many times.

Her wings were being covered by her shirt, and it didn't take a genius to tell that she didn't like it because she kept clawing and scratching at the shirt with a ever-growing frown on her face.

Sherlock knew she had been fed because there were excess bread crumbs still on her lips. "There!" Mrs. Hudson exclaimed proudly.

When Leona caught sight unto Sherlock, her eyes lit up, once again, "Shee!" She screamed, running over and jumping on top of him, for the second time that day. His fortune must have succeeded because he did not have his laptop on his lap again and he just finished his tea, keeping him from spilling it all over himself.

Leona snuggled into his chest as he forcibly tried to pry her off him, again. Her wings moved and struggled through the shirt in order to aid her with her hug, but with the shirt on it was no use.

"Leona!" He shouted, pulling her off him so she could stand in front of him, "You cannot keep doing that."

She smiled, ignoring his words, "Shee!"

"Sherlock," he corrected sourly.

"Shee," she protested stubbornly.

"Sherlock."

"Shee."

"Sherlock."

"Shee!" He sighed, this was going absolutely nowhere.

Meanwhile, John and Mrs. Hudson were talking amongst themselves, "Where'd you get the clothes, Mrs. Hudson, if you don't mind me asking?" John asked.

"Oh, not at all! I got them from a friend, Rebecca Harrison, I believe I've told you about her. Has two older daughters and she was gonna throw them out, but I called her up and told her I had a niece I could give them too," Mrs. Hudson winked, making John laugh, taking another sip of his tea.

"Speaking of," the woman continued, pulling the girl over to her, and sitting her down in front of her. She began to finger comb through the Leona's messy hair, scolding her lightly when she made a feeble attempt to wiggle away. "Is she your niece, John?"

"Ah, no," he denied with slight frown, "We found her yesterday sleeping on my bed."

"What of her parents?"

"No clue," Sherlock replied.

"Why don't you just search her?" Mrs. Hudson frowned, getting to a large knot. "John, could you fetch a comb for me?" John nodded, getting up and heading over to the bathroom.

Sherlock nodded, "I'll need to take a photo of her face," he muttered, going over to Leona with his camera phone, snapping a photo of her face. Leona squinted at the flash, but otherwise said nothing, just as John returned with a wide toothed comb.

Mrs. Hudson shot him a grateful look and began to comb through her hair, more tenderly now, until she got to the knots that is. Sherlock uploaded her photo on the laptop, and pulled up a face recognition program.

John looked over his shoulder, "What are you up to?" He asked, peering at the computer.

"Facial recognition. Looking all over the internet for her face, or at least someone that looked remotely like her," he answered, just as the computer buzzed.

John took his phone, swiping and typing on it, "What are you doing?"

"Sending the picture to my phone," he replied just as his phone rang, with a text message from Sherlock with the picture as a attachment.

"What for?"

"Wanted to show Leona," he shrugged, bringing his phone over, handing it to the girl. "Look! It's you!" He smiled but the girl froze on the spot, pupils dilating.

She screamed, her eyes seemed to glow a bright brown. The phone flew out of John's hand and against the wall, shattering to wall, each piece of the phone shattering into smaller pieces. As if that wasn't enough, it began to smoke and catch to a small fire.

Mrs. Hudson was the first to react, jumping up to get towel and fan out the fire, "Good heavens!" She exclaimed.

John and Sherlock stared at the girl, who's eyes were still a bright hazel color. "What the hell...?" John gasped, staring at the girl. She still glared at the broken pieces of the phone that Mrs. Hudson cleaned up. "No, really, what—"

"I don't know," Sherlock grumbled, "Leona." But she didn't turn to him, she heaved her chest, her gaze not leaving. "Leona!"

She still didn't react. John got up, pulling gently on her arm, "Leona," he said and finally she broke her gaze.

"Jon?" She replied, her eyes darting from him to the broken phone Mrs. Hudson tossed out. Once every broken piece was disposed of, she sighed, relaxing her shoulders.

"I need to get the broom, I'll be back in a jiffy," Mrs. Hudson announced, leaving the room.

"Are you okay?" John asked seriously.

A small nod was her answer, but Sherlock — being Sherlock — was curious. Too curious.

He pulled up the picture on his laptop and show it to the girl. Like a switch being flipped, her pupils dilated and glowed again, and she jumped at the laptop. Sherlock pushed the top down, hiding it away from her, and taking her face in his hand.

"Glowing, definitely glowing. But why? How?" He thought aloud, examining her over. "A photograph of yourself made you go berserk, but you've seen your reflection before, of course. There's a mirror in the bathroom and in the hall and you didn't try to break them then. And then there's the fact that you somehow pulled the phone out of John's hand without making contact with it. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're telekinetic, but that's—" he didn't get finish because she waved her hand, causing his chair to go back, hitting the wall, making scratch lines scrap the wooden floor.

Sherlock stared dumbfounded at the girl, who was currently trembling. Her eyes wide with fear, which was directed at him, and her breath came out in short, uneven, pants. Her pose was defensive, as if she was trying to protect herself from him. "Le—"

"Whitecoat," was all she said before rushing out the room, in the direction of what looked like John's room. She slammed the door behind her, making the noise rumble through the apartment.

After a few seconds, John processed what had happened, "Sherlock!"

"What?" He frowned, bringing back out his laptop, and continued to work.

"You're not even going to check if she's okay!?" John said, in more of a shocking hiss.

"She'll be fine, I didn't even do anything to her," Sherlock stated bluntly, not looking up from his laptop.

"You scared her!"

"I was simply trying to find out what she did to your phone and if she was able to do it again."

"She called you a 'Whitecoat' what the bloody hell does—" he paused, realization dawning him. He remembered when she got scared when he said he was a doctor, and was able to piece it together easily. "A scientist. She thought you were a scientist."

"Yes. You're now getting that? I thought it was quite clear."

John scowled at the man, "If you're just going to sit there, I'm gonna go check on her." He marched out of the room, and down the hall where she retreated to.

Mrs. Hudson opened the door, with a broom in hand, "Where'd John pop off to?"

John knocked softly on the door, "Leona?" He called through the wooden door, "Leona, can I—" he paused, noticing that the door slowly moved forward. It wasn't locked.

He opened the door to find the lights on and Leona sitting in the corner. He could see her wings in her shirt flinching and moving, eager to be released from its fabric prison. "Leona?"

"... Scare..." She muttered, staring at her feet. "Shee... Scare..."

John frowned, piecing her dysfunctional words together. Sherlock scared her. "Shee... Whitecoat. Wh–Whitecoat... Scare... Leona..."

"Leona, Sherlock isn't going to hurt you, I promise."

"Shee... Whitecoat... S–Shee hurt... Leona..." She stuttered, staring at her legs, not moving at all. "Shee—Whitecoat... Sh–Sh–Shee hurt—"

"Leona calm down," John said, kneeling down in front of her. After spending a few years in war, he was able to see the early signs of an anxiety attack easily. "Just breath, Leona."

"Shee—"

"Don't worry about Sherlock," he said, forcing his tone to be calming. "Sherlock doesn't matter." He forced her eyes on him, "Look at me. Look at me. Everything's going to be fine. Just breathe. Breathe."

At this point, the girl was shaking, but her eyes still set on one point, staring into space. Her breath came out in ragged pants, but she managed to finally say, "Shee..."

John sat beside her, at first she looked uncomfortable at such closeness, but she relaxed, not seeing John as a threat. "Sherlock didn't mean to frighten you," John said, "He was just... Curious, and sometimes he gets too curious. Might even forget that you're still a person too." He sighed, "Sherlock — Shee — won't hurt you, I swear. And if he tried to lay a bloody finger on you, he'll have to get through me first." He puffed out his chest and gave the girl a warm smile.

Leona tilted her head, "Jon... No hurt... Leona...?" For trying to piece words together for the first time, she quickly getting much better at it.

He smiled, ruffling her half-plaited hair. "John no-hurt Leona," he assured using the same dialect as her, quickly adding, "John never hurt Leona."

She smiled, pressing herself into his hand, a soft purr of pleasure rumbling from her throat, and she closed her eyes. After a few minutes of rubbing her head, his hand trailed to her wing, rubbing circles in it with his thumb. He sat there for several minutes, until he realized that she had dozed off.

He easily plucked the girl off the floor, bringing her to the bed, and resting her sleeping body in it. He exited the room, leaving the door fully open.

John found Sherlock staring at his wall, getting his hand gun ready to shoot it, again. Luckily, John was able to stop him before he caused unnecessary trouble.

"No, no! No!" He shouted, pulling the gun away, "I just got Leona to lie down."

"Leona is sleeping again? She just got up," Sherlock frowned.

"Yeah, after you gave her a bleedin' anxiety attack!" Sherlock rolled his eyes, like it was nothing, infuriating John even more. "You don't understand, do you? She's a child, Sherlock. She's scared. You said it yourself, she was 'experimented' on! You can't act like she's your lab rat!"

"I never did. I was just curious on how she was moving things without touching them," He replied coolly, reluctantly setting his handgun down on the table.

John glowered at him, snatching his coat off his chair and loosely putting it on. "Where are you going?" Sherlock asked, although he didn't sound like he cared very much.

"Out," he slammed the door behind him.


	4. Four

"Your best friend is a sociopath who solves crimes as an alternative to getting high. That's me by the way. Hello. Even the landlady used to run a drug cartel."

– Sherlock Holmes

Chapter Four:

Leona and Sherlock were sitting in the sitting room when John came back. Mrs. Hudson came by earlier and finished plaiting Leona's hair, so now it was filled with shoulder-length braids.

She sat quietly in the chair, staring at her feet. She didn't move, as if she were a statue. Sherlock was fiercely typing on his laptop, adding another addition to his blog, the Science of Deduction, but otherwise didn't say a word either. It had been fairly silent, which struck John as odd when he entered the room.

John stared at the two, Leona still had not moved an inch when he came in. She only glanced up at him, then looked back down. "What's going on...?" John asked, setting the bags in his hands down on the table in the kitchen, somehow finding space.

When neither of them answered, he sighed again, "Fine, don't talk to me, whatever," he grumbled, going to the kitchen to put away groceries, and the bag with his new phone near it. Once he finished, he plopped down in his chair, "Any new cases so far?"

"No," Sherlock replied, boredom lacing his tone.

"Okay... What about Leona's..." He sighed, he didn't want to talk about it, but after being out for a while, he deemed it rather important and wanted to discuss it, or at least the basics of it. "You know, the mind-moving, telepathic thing?"

Sherlock frowned a bit annoyed with John's choice of words, — but then again, when is he not. Telepathy was speaking into someone else's mind, telekinetic was moving things with your mind. "Telekinetic and nothing," his voice came out in a growling tone, making John quirk an eyebrow. "The papers don't say anything about it other than 'Subject may have odd abilities'."

Sherlock was very frustrated. In front of him sat a child, who had wings, could supposedly move things with her mind, and couldn't speak properly, and he wasn't able to... Examine her! Not in the sense of experimenting on her, but to understand how or why she was this way! He felt like someone was dangling a biscuit in his face and expect him not to take it!

John knew Sherlock and knew how anxious he was to examine the young girl, but he wouldn't allow it. Not after all the stuff that she's been through. "Hello Leona," John greeted.

"Jon," she replied softly, greeting him with a dull tone.

John frowned, this was much different than her usually cheeriness. "No, I didn't bombard her with questions, John," Sherlock rolled his eyes, sensing his question before he even said it.

John turned back to Leona, "Here, let me check you shoulder." He pulled down her sleeve, moving the dried-blood stained bandages. His eyes widened and he slowly blinked, "Whoa..."

"Whoa what?"

"It's gone," John whispered loud enough for his flat mate to hear. He set slight pressure on her leg. Nothing happened, not even the slight muscle movement. She just sat there, her face hard as steel. "It's healed up."

"That's not possible. The wound was too—"

"I know, Sherlock," John rolled his eyes. Sometimes, Sherlock forgot he was a doctor...

Leona looked down at the wound, or at least where the wound was, "Leona did you do something?" He asked the girl skeptically, but she shook her head.

"She can probably heal faster," Sherlock spoke up, "It said it in the papers."

"The wound was fresh, Sherlock," John frowned, "It couldn't have healed this quickly."

"It doesn't matter," Sherlock said, dismissing the rather interesting subject. "We have bigger worries to fret over."

"Like what?"

"Lestrade called," He began, "We have a murder."

"Where?"

"Eighth Street, a few block from here."

"Why didn't you go?" This was out of Sherlock's nature. Usually he was more than happy to go check out a murder and leave John a vague text with his whereabouts.

"Leona," he answered motioning to the younger girl.

"Oh," John looked at her. "What about Mrs. Hudson?"

"Not our babysitter," he reminded, "And she had to go out."

John ran a hand down his face, "What about her—"

"Wings? We can hide it behind one of my old coats."

"Those old things? They'll be far too big. If the wings don't stick out then the coat will!"

"Well, I don't see you coming up with any other plan."

"Shee?"

"Why don't we just leave her here?"

"Jon—?"

"By herself!?"

"Shee—?"

"It's better than putting a raggedy old coat on top of her!"

"Shee!" Leona shouted, making them both go silent and turn to her.

She pulled off her shirt revealing a bright pink tank top and her large wings. Then, she went to the kitchen, grabbing a knife, and cutting two large slits in the back. She picked up the ace bandage off the table, left over from the first aid kit, and wrapped her wings up, so that it stayed tied to her back.

The put back on the shirt and snatched up a worn jean jacket left by Mrs. Hudson, putting it on over top. Finally, she tucked her shirt into her pants and, with much effort, completely hiding her wings from sight.

John and Sherlock stared a her, she looked completely normal, like she never had wings in the first place, "Well then..." John said, with a small sigh.

"I guess that solves it..." Sherlock rubbed his hands together, picking up his coat. "Text Lestrade. Tell him we're on our way," Sherlock said, heading out the door, with John and Leona following him.

To say Leona enjoyed the car ride to the crime scene would be an understatement.

At first she had been very reluctant to enter the car, seeing it's was small enclosed space. Sherlock was able to easily deduce that she was claustrophobic. After a bit of coaxing, she hesitantly entered the taxi, and they set off.

Leona was terrified at the beginning of the ride. She was used to having the wind go through her feathers when she was moving. Now, she was in a closed contraption where she could hear every moving parts and feel the vibrations and disruptions when the car moved. It was a new experience, and she quickly began to love it.

Leona looked out the clear windows, where she was able to see people walking up and down the street, and a smile grew on her face. The only people she had been able to see close up was the Whitecoats, John, Sherlock, and Mrs. Hudson.

Now, she was able to see all these different types of people. Some where tall, or short, or big or really small. Some were light skinned like Sherlock, or dark skinned like herself. Some had straight hair or curly hair or short hair or long hair.

Then there were the colours!

Everyone wore all different types of colours, some where light, others dark. Some of the colours, she has never seen before in her life, and it exhilarated her!

John and Sherlock didn't miss her obvious excitement of the outside world. In fact, John let her sit on the side, just so she could be closer to the window to see it. She kept looking back and forth, from them to the window, "Jon! Shee!" She said over and over again.

John laughed, "Look, there's people!"

"People!" She repeated, very energetic. She nearly bounced out of her seat.

"First time in London, eh?" The taxi driver said, his voice rough and heavy. Even he cracked a smile at her actions.

"For her, yes," John answered, watching as she began to ramble incoherent words along the lines of 'Shee', 'Lon-dome', 'Jon', and 'People'.

Eventually, they got to their destination, and Leona was a bit reluctant to leave the car and her adventure, but did so anyway.

The lot was taped off by yellow police tape and a big warehouse stood in the middle. "Freak's here," Sally Donovan announced, as the three cross the police tape. She looked down, her eyes narrowing, "Who's that?"

"John's niece," Sherlock lied smoothly, "Her mother is on holiday and asked him to watch her."

"So you brought her here?" Sally scoffed, rolling her eyes.

"Well, we didn't have time to call over a babysitter."

"What's her name?"

"Leona," John answered, looking down at the girl who's hand he held.

"Hello, Leona," Sally greeted, "I'm Sally Donovan." She held her hand out for the girl to shake, but she only moved behind John, shyly.

"She's... Shy," John answered awkwardly, trying to move the girl away, who was clinging to his coat.

Sherlock, deciding that he's wasted enough time, walked ahead to the crime scene, while John stayed for a second. "Come on, Leona, say hello," he urged, finally managing to move her away.

"... Hello," the girl answered, looking at the ground.

Sally seemed to buy this and laughed, "She's adorable," she complimented.

"Ah, thank you," he nodded, walking ahead with the girl in tow. Eventually, they made it to the large warehouse, where Sherlock stood, examining the body, Lestrade stood beside him, being completely useless, per usual.

He glanced over at John, catching a glimpse of the girl beside him, "Who's that? She can't be in here."

"John's niece," Sherlock replied, not looking away. "John, come here," he tossed his partner a pair of blue gloves and continued to prod at the body.

"What are we looking at?" He asked.

"Claw marks, like a wolf."

"Hello? What about her!?" Lestrade demanded, hating the thought of losing his job because he let a eight year old look at a dead body.

"She's fine, leave her be," Sherlock replied. Lestrade sighed, but said nothing else.

Leona sniffed, staying very still, she knew exactly what had happened here. She quickly went over to Sherlock, pulling him on his jacket. "Not now, Leona," he said, continuing his observations.

"Shee..."

"Leona, no."

"Shee!"

He sighed, turning around to her, an annoyed look on his face, "What could be so important that—"

She pointed to the body, "Erasers."

He stopped, his eyes widened a fraction. "What's wrong? What is it?" John asked, as a smirk grew on Sherlock's face.

Sherlock quickly turned back to the gruff man. His face ragged, with a reddish beard, but his hair was cut short, military style. His nails were much longer than an average man would grow them out to be. At first, he dismissed this as a quality that a homosexual would usually do, but other aspects of him didn't add up to that. With the new theory that he was a Eraser, it would make more sense.

He had longer nails, or claws, more likely as a werewolf would. He also saw how his feet was very calloused, which he deduced could be from working hard, probably had a more laboring job, but there was dirt in his toenails, he didn't wear shoes, just like Leona when they met her.

He chuckled, ruffling Leona's hair with his gloved hand, "Good job, Leona."

"What? What did she say?" John asked, confused himself.

"Eraser," John's eyes widened and he turned back to the corpse.

"Really?" Leona nodded, "Whoa... Wow, uhm. Okay. Lestrade, have you sent a blood sample to the lab?"

"Yes, what do you mean by 'Eraser'? Is that code for something?"

Sherlock nearly laughed, being able to have the chance to study a dead science experiment that happened to be some kind of werewolf too? It must be Christmas.

Alas, his glee soon ran out when the doors opened, revealing one of his least favorite people: Mycroft.

John was quick to react, pushing Leona behind him, away from sight, and announcing, "I need to go ask Sally about something." He proceeded to abruptly leave the room with Leona positioned in front of him, so Mycroft wouldn't see her.

Luckily, Mycroft was more concerned with his younger bother and paid no mind to John, giving him the chance to leave the room through the back doors. "Jon?" Leona frowned as he closed the warehouse door behind him with a hefty sigh.

He whipped out his new phone, texting his partner a quick message, 'Taking Leona home'.

Meanwhile, Sherlock and Mycroft were having a glaring competition. "I'm taking over this case," Mycroft announced and Sherlock narrowed his eyes slightly.

"I'm already working this case, there's no need," after finding out that the victim was a dead werewolf, giving up this case would be highly unlikely.

"You're already working a case: Mine."

"Ever heard of multitasking, brother? Working a case for a missing science experiment gets rather boring."

"I thought you'd like a case with a bit of science fiction."

"I've had enough cases like that for a while."

Mycroft rolled his eyes, "Nevertheless, I am taking over the case for offical government purposes, I'm sure you'd understand."

He turned to Lestrade, who simply shrugged, replying a short, "I don't see why not."

Sherlock had to contain his ever-growing anger, he had finally gotten the chance to study the corpse of a wolf-human, something that was particularly rare in his line of work. Now, thanks to his rather quite annoying older brother, it was slipping through his fingers like the sand on a beach! "Well, then, argument over," Mycroft clapped his hands together, "You can go, Sherlock."

If looks could kill a man, then Mycroft would be burning alive from the glower of pure annoyance and despise that Sherlock was shining at him as he turned to leave from the crime scene. "Oh, and I expect an update on that job soon!" Mycroft called behind him, causing Sherlock to whip around, glaring at him.

"I'm not doing that job," he seethed in a hauntingly cool tone. "It doesn't quite catch my interests," then, he turned on his heel, and left the building, leaving his annoying elder brother behind.

As soon as Sherlock walked through the door, a small figure pounced on him bringing them both to the ground, "Shee!" She cried tearfully, sitting on top of his chest. "Shee! Shee! Shee!!"

"Leona!" Sherlock gasped, pushing the girl roughly off his chest, and moving to stand up. She helplessly clung to his leg, like a child missing their mother. Sherlock glared at John, silently demanding an explanation.

"Ah, she was crying the whole way back to the flat, and kept saying 'Erasers' over and over again," he said, rubbing his head. "She probably missed you, or something..."

Sherlock looked over to the girl, who had small tears growing in her eyes, "Shee... 'Kay?" She asked.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Of course I'm okay, it was only my brother."

She sighed, leaning back, "Shee... Scare... Leona," she pouted. "Leona... Scare... Shee... Hurt."

Sherlock turned to John, "When did she start to learn to speak in sentences?"

"Yesterday, after... That," John frowned, not wanting to mention it, and dully hoped that he would catch on.

Luckily, he did. He nodded, getting off the floor, picking up his bag. He looked at his watch, two o' clock now, and he had nothing to do. He scowled, plopping down on his arm chair, and pulled out his sleek laptop, checking through his notifications on there. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. It was like, nobody had any problems that he could fix.

No, that wasn't true. Everyone on the earth has some kind of problem, but there was no one asking him directly to fix there's. Then again, there is—

"Sherlock," John called, pulling him away from his thoughts, "What about Leona?" And then his thoughts went flying again as he looked at Leona. She was still sitting on the ground, but apparently interested in an ant that she found. Fascination covered her face as she let it crawl up and down her hand. She giggled as the bug tickled her skin.

At the sound of her name being called, she turned looking up, "Shee?"

"Sherlock, what are we going to do about her?" John continued, "It's only a matter of time before Mycroft comes back and finds her. He has control of all CCTV cameras in the city, he will find her eventually."

"I know, John," Sherlock grumbled, he needed to think, and John's useless complaining was definitely not helping. He was still extremely curious about her ability and would very much like to test it and see what really makes her tick, but of course, he couldn't.

He huffed, but said no more on the topic, filling the room with an undisturbed silence.


	5. Five

"I'm in shock — look, I've got a blanket."

— Sherlock Holmes

Chapter Five:

While John and Sherlock worked, Leona moved, going towards the window. Neither of them seem to mind, seeing as wings were covered by her shirt. She pressed her face against the hard glass, cocking her head to the side. Loud sounds from outside seemed to make the glass vibrate, which included honking, shouting, and even a few animalistic sounds.

Despite her very sensitive hearing, she loved it. She loved all the outside noises and all the people — although she did feel a bit uneasy meeting them up close, like how she was with that woman earlier.

She had to admit, it could smell much better and all the sounds was making her head spin a bit, but the exotic feeling that grew in her stomach when she stared helplessly at the people who were scattered about on the ground, it was indescribable. She wanted to sit there and look at them all day, but then again, she also wanted to go over and jump on them, like she did whenever she saw Sherlock, she wanted them to look at her and see her wings!

An unknown feeling of happiness swelled in her chest. She wanted to go out there, she wanted to be amongst them! She went out there not too long ago, maybe she could go again!

She ran over to Sherlock, pulling on his arm, "Shee! Shee!!" She cried, trying to get his attention. It worked, because he turned to him, although she seemed oblivious to the annoyed look he gave her.

"What is it, Leona?"

She pointed to the window, a full-sized smile on her face, "No."

A lot of the words that John and Sherlock spoke made little to no sense to her, but she was able to understand a few of them, and get a general understanding of their meanings. She also knew several words from the School as well, she learned them from the Whitecoats, although in the School, you would be punished if you spoke.

So, when Sherlock told her 'no', she quickly was able to connect that to when the Whitecoats would tell her 'No, you can't do this' or 'No, if you keep making noise about that, then you will be punished'.

She quickly let go of his hand, moving away. If Sherlock said no, then she should not ask again, or she could get punished.

She moved away from the window, and stared down at her toes, keeping herself quiet.

John looked up, seeing Leona sitting quietly on the floor, something very uncharacteristic about her. "What did you do?" He immediately asked his flat mate.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "I just told her no."

"Why?"

"She wanted to go outside."

"And?"

"She doesn't need to go out right now," Sherlock sighed. John always found a way to make something complicated.

"Sherlock," John began in a scolding tone.

"What?!"

"She's a kid, she wants to go explore," John explained, trying to put it in a way that Sherlock could understand and maybe even relate to. "You saw how she was in the taxi, she just wants to go see it again, but up close."

"She can see it perfectly from the window," Sherlock muttered, returning to his laptop.

John stared at his friend for several seconds, who was looking up something on his phone. "Why don't you go take her out for a bit?"

Sherlock knew it was going to come to this; John was so predictable, and he already had his answer. "Not going to happen."

"Sherlock—"

"No."

Now John was frustrated, but an idea popped up in his head. "Okay, that's it," he muttered, getting up, swiping Sherlock's phone out of his hands, and taking his laptop that rested beside him.

"What do you think you're doing?" Sherlock demanded, now very annoyed.

"You," he pointed to Sherlock, "Are going to take Leona out for at least an hour."

Sherlock scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest and a leg over his upper thigh. "Give me my phone, John."

"Not until you go outside," he replied firmly, sitting back down and hiding the electronics behind him. "Besides, you could use a little sunlight. You're as pale as a bloody vampire."

"You can't make me," Sherlock argued, much like a child, which is what he happened to act like 75% of the time.

John rose an eyebrow, questioning his words, "An hour, at least."

"No."

This could possibly be the best moment in Leona's short lived life. She darted up and down the street, shoving past crowds of people to see the large colors that seemed to illuminate the dusk sky. Her dull brown eyes lit up with amazement as she stared at the LED lights that broadly proclaimed the coffee selling café.

"Leona!" Sherlock called behind the small girl, somehow being able to catch her in the hoard of people, "You cannot run off like that!" He scolded, taking a firm hold of the girl's hand.

John had... Bribed him to come out here with her for an hour, leaving the small girl to be his responsibility. John made sure she wore a coat, since gray clouds had began to pile up in the sky. Judging by London's usual topsy-turvy weather, it would be likely for it to rain soon.

Leona yanked on Sherlock's hand, successfully dragging him across the street. Sherlock was amazed by the sheer strength she had, as she ran past people to get to some other sight that she could gawk and stare at.

"Leona!" Sherlock exclaimed, slamming his feet into the pavement in order to slow them both down. She turned around, excitement not leaving her big brown eyes and wide smile. If they were going to go out, they might as well do it right, so no one would get remotely suspicious of them.

He walked in front of them, gently pulling Leona behind him, and walking in a slow pace. They weren't far from a small restaurant that he enjoyed. Consequently, it was the same one he had taken John when they first met, down on Northampton Street.

It didn't take more than five minutes to get to the restaurant that made the street look a dimmed orange-yellow. Entering the restaurant, he was met by Angelo, the owner, who had a big grin on his face. "Sherlock! Haven't seen you in a while!" He greeted, his voice made every word rumble out of his throat as he turned to look down kindly at Leona. "Who's that?"

Leona's heart raced, and she moved to hide behind Sherlock, as if his long body would protect her from the stranger. She enjoyed seeing them from the window, but now seeing one close up, well, it made fear grow in her body. "It was your idea to come out here and meet people, Leona," Sherlock said, audibly irritated. She wanted so desperately to go outside and now she wanted to be shy!?

"Leona, that's a beautiful name," Angelo said, bending down to her height and purred a compliment. Leona moved a bit to look at him, "I am Angelo, it is very nice to meet a beautiful woman like you." He held out his hand for her to shake, but she merely stared at it. Finally, she held onto his middle finger, gently shaking it.

Angelo laughed amusedly, "She is cute!" He proclaimed, standing straight up, "Where did you get an adorable girl like that?"

"She's John's niece," Sherlock answered and the man nodded, grinning widely.

"Well, a friend of Sherlock is a friend of mine! Your meals will be on the house tonight!" Angelo cheered, "Would you like to take your seats?"

"Actually, I have to leave, so if you could make that to go, that would really help," Angelo beamed, despite the fact that Sherlock was not able to stay, being able to serve him any meal would truly be an honor.

"Right on it!" He said, disappearing to the backroom.

Not ten minutes later, Angelo returned with two bags that held a dark styrofoam boxes inside each. "There you go!" He said, handing them both their bags. "You two have fun, and tell your boyfriend I said hello!"

"Goodbye, Angelo," Sherlock said, exiting the building with Leona in tow.

They went to a nearby park to eat, sitting on a bench. Leona had consumed the child-sized portion of pasta that she was given in less than a minute, and was more than eager to explore the park. Sherlock, on the other hand, hadn't finished eating, but didn't really feel in the mood to finish anyway.

Then, something got caught in the tree beside them. Leona looked up to see a vibrant colored shape lodged in between the branches of a very tall tree. "No!" A young boy beside her shouted. He held a strange wooden object in his hands that was tightly wrapped up with string. "C'mon! C'mon!"

Leona walked over, watching curiously as the boy yanked and pulled at the tree. "I might have to climb up there and it..." He muttered to himself.

"Climb?"

He turned to her, "Can you climb up the tree and get it?" He asked, "I'll let you use it, I promise!" Leona shrugged, easily going to the tree. At first she had wanted to take her wings out and fly up and get it, but by the pointed look Sherlock gave her — having overheard the conversation, of course — she knew that keeping it on would be much better.

Instead, Leona decided to climb on the tree, easily jumping up and catching unto a thin branch. Before it could snap underneath her weight, she kicked off the tree, latching herself to different branch, one that was much thicker than the one before. She swung her weight back and forth, using it to build momentum and finally jump to the branch that held the kite.

She was quick when she snagged it from the tree, and tossed it back down to the boy, who easily caught it, before jumping down herself.

It hadn't been too high of a fall, but she was able to roll before she hit the ground, in order to keep herself from sustaining any unnecessary injuries. "Whoa! That was so cool! Thanks!" The boy awed. He looked down at the kite that he held in his small hands, then gave it to Leona. "You can fly it first."

"Fly?" She didn't know what he meant by that, seeing as she really had no clue what a kite was and how it functioned. Of course, she knew what flying was, but after giving the kite that the boy held in his hands, she could tell that the thing definitely didn't have wings so it couldn't fly.

"Do you know how to fly a kite?" She shook her head, "Oh. That's okay, I'll show you!" He gently took the kite back, "Here, you just hold it like this," he held it up in the air. "Then, you run!" He ran across the grassy green field, before tossing it in the air.

Since it was about to rain, the air had been pretty windy, making it no problem for the kite to soar higher and higher in the air. The boy came back to Leona, handing her the spool of string, "Here!" He placed the spool into her hands. The kite began to falter a bit, "Turn it, give it a bit more string to fly on."

Obediently, Leona began to turn the spool, releasing the tightly wrapped string, making the kite fly a bit higher, "That's great!" He cheered as she continued to fly it high in the sky.

The two children played with the kite for nearly a half hour, taking turns when flying it. The boy showed Leona a few tricks that he had supposedly learned from his older brother. Finally, a woman across the field shouted, "Antonio! It's time to go!!"

The boy sighed, "That's my mum, I have to go now," he said remorsefully. He began to rewrap the kite's string, making it slowly come down. "Hey, what's your name, anyway?"

"Leona," the boy — Antonio — smiled.

"That's a cool name!" Finally, the kite came down, and he held the end of it, making a bit of excess string trail on the green patches of grass. "Bye, Leona! I hope I get to see you again!" Antonio waved back at Leona as he ran to his mother. Although they had been a great distance apart, Leona could still hear him tell the woman about the girl that he met in the park who saved his kite.

Sherlock, who had been resting on the bench, took this as a sign to go, and stood up. "Come on, Leona," he said, gently taking Leona's hand and walking the opposite direction away from Antonio and his mother.

The next ten or so minutes was spent window shopping. Well, more like staring at the mannequins behind the glass cases, the people inside the stores, and then the clothing that the plastic models wore.

Leona didn't quite understand the importance of having all the different types of clothes and the different styles in different stores. To her, they all looked the same, even though they were very different. Besides, they all had the same purpose, to cover up bodies and provide warmth. Although, from some of the clothes that she saw, they didn't quite cover up much, at least not enough for someone to be warm and in the least bit comfortable.

Either way, it was something unfamiliar to her, so she reacted ecstatically, looking at one glass encased store to the other. Sometimes even mimicking the odd poses that they seemed to be forever stuck in.

Finally, when the bells from a nearby church signaled the end to the hour, Sherlock breathed a sigh of relief. Finally, he finished his deal and could go back to the flat, which happened to be nearly a half hour away by walking. And, since it was rush hour, catching a taxi would be near impossible. Besides, from what he could see already, traffic was certainly hell and something he did not want to be caught in.

"Come along, Leona," Sherlock said. He had let her look into one of the glass windows while he was examining the traffic, trying to figure out what would be a better route to get home, opposed to walking.

He frowned when he was met by silence, "Leona come on—" he turned around and his eyes turned to saucers.

Leona was gone.

"Leona?" He called, maybe she had wandered inside the store, to get a closer look. He peek inside, finding nothing of the sort. He then suggested that she wandered away, but that was highly unlikely as well.

He looked at the window, the small prints of her fingers smudged on, but they weren't straight. They were at a diagonal angle. She was taken. Dragged away.

"Leona!?" Sherlock shouted, desperation rising in his tone. He gritted his teeth forcing himself to calm down. She would have said something, or made some kind of noise if she was taken, but he didn't hear her. She must have been drugged. Some kind of grease near the fingerprints caught his eye. He wiped it, sniffing his finger and ignored the odd looks given to him by strangers.

The subtle scent of chloroform filled his sensitive nostrils. She was drugged before being taken.

Maybe he could find her. How long had she been missing? The estimated time would be at least two minutes. Too long. She could be anywhere!

He threw his hands in the air frustratedly, he needed help, although he would never admit it himself. John was a half hour away, but that could be shortened by half using a vehicle. He easily hailed a taxi, "Baker Street," he ordered the driver, "As fast as you can!"

Leona woke up in a dark room, which made her immediately freak out, had she not heard someone enter the room. She stiffened as a door was opened, and then closed easily. "Hello there," the high voice of a man greeted, trying to sound warm and welcoming, but she sensed the bloodlust radiating off the man, instantly giving him the sense not to be trusted.

The man stepped into her vision. He had slicked back combed hair, and dark eyes. His face was narrow and he wore a black suit and navy blue tie. On his face was a smirk. When he came over, he touched Leona's chin, raising her face so she could see his own. She surpressed a growl, trying to struggle a little against the tight rope that rubbed against her skin.

"Sherlock's little pet," the man purred. She snapped her teeth at his fingers, but barely missing them because the strange man moved his hand. "How... Exotic!" He grinned madly, "I'm going to like playing with you."


	6. Six

"A great mind is nothing to little."

— Sherlock Holmes

Chapter Six:

It had been five hours.

Five hours since Sherlock 'lost' Leona. John, who was very angry to say the least, hadn't spent a second to not yell at him. At first, Sherlock claimed that it wasn't his fault. It wasn't his fault Leona was kidnapped, he had only looked away for a minute!

This didn't help his argument at all, if anything made John more frustrated with him.

Sherlock believed his anger to be unjust. He did what he was supposed to do, he watched her, to an extent. It wasn't his fault that she was taken.

Nevertheless, the both of them have been doing whatever they could to get her back. Sherlock tapped into the homeless network, sending out a message to give him a signal if anyone saw a young girl in a large coat. John went to go walk around, asking neighbors and strangers, describing the girl features, they all claiming they have seen nothing of the sort.

When it began to heavily rain, they both decided it would be best to go back, hoping she'd find her way back to Baker Street.

Sherlock sat on his chair, squeezing his sand-filled stress ball, the feeling of annoyance filling him. Leona had been gone for five hours now, with no sign of where she was, or who took her. As much as he'd hate to admit it, but a small part of him was worried for her. He searched the scene where she was taken for nearly an hour, and he could still find nothing! Not a hair, or a fingerprint! The only thing he found was the chloroform dust. Whoever took her knew what they were doing. It wasn't some kind of everyday kidnapping.

For a while, Sherlock suspected that his brother, Mycroft, had stolen her from him. Of course, he couldn't confront his brother on this, he may get suspicious and question if she was with him, or find out that she was with him and that he lost her. So, he could neither confirm nor deny whether or now Leona was under his care.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, squeezing the sand ball to near breaking point. He drove his nails through the thick leather, huffing angrily to himself.

"Sherlock?" John called, pulling his laptop off his lap, and looking at him. John looked exhausted, probably more than he was. "Maybe we should call it a night."

"Nonsense," Sherlock answered immediately, "What if she comes through? No one will be able to greet her and ask her questions as to why she disappeared."

"C'mon Sherlock," John said, with a concerned look on his face. "We need to rest. Being sleep deprived isn't going to find her any faster." Sherlock frowned stubbornly, not moving from his spot. "Please, Sherlock."

After a few moment, Sherlock sighed, and answered with a grumbled, "Fine," before retreating to his bedroom.

Sherlock had barely gotten any sleep that night, after nearly staying up till two AM and having a very restless night. Eventually, though, he did fall into a dreamless rest.

The sound of sharp, uneven gasps woke Sherlock up with a shock. He immediately glanced down at the source, finding a dark braided head, that has speckled flecks of blood.

Sherlock's eyes widened, and he sat up, "Leona!?"

The child didn't answer, she only kept her head down. He could hear her sniffle, crying into his pillowcase. A loud honk from outside reached his ears and he glance up, the window was open, and the curtain rod was broken, lying helplessly on the ground.

Another sniffle, and he looked at her. He carefully move her over, so he could check for any signs of blood. She wailed, which turned into a coughing fit. Her hands trailed to her stomach, holding it gingerly. A large patch of burgundy stained the bed. A stab wound, a really bad one at that. It was in her lower torso, but it was shallow, not too deep to rupture any organs, hopefully.

"Leona, who did this to you?" Sherlock demanded, only to have her shake her head. The bedroom door opened, and he turned around to see John, standing in the doorway. Her cry must've woken him up, he had always been a light sleeper after all.

John immediately spotted the top of her glossy black wings and knew who it was. "Is she hurt? How bad is it?!" John asked, swiftly coming over.

"There is blood in her hair, most likely from a head wound, she keeps holding her torso, so I assume she was injured there as well. There is bruising near her sides and," he paused, raising her shirt, "And a lot near her chest. Probably a fractured rib."

"S–Shee..." She moaned. "Sh–Shee—"

"Sit her up," John ordered, leaving to retrieve the first aid kit from Ms. Hudson.

"Sh—"

"Stop talking," he snapped, moving her to sit up. She gasped, biting her lip. "Move your hand so I can see," he ordered.

Shakily, she moved her hand, which had been covered in blood. He easily rose her shirt, and his eyes fractioned.

"Okay, let me look at her stomach," John said returning to the bedroom, holding a bulky first aid kid. Sherlock moved so he could see, his eyes full of anger.

John gasped, looking at the messy carving on her stomach. It was a capital M for a very infamous 'friend' of theirs, and a smiley face. "A knife," Sherlock growled. "Serrated blade. Approximately eight inches."

John nodded, going to her side, dabbing a cotton ball with rubbing alcohol. "This is going to hurt, Leona," he warned. "But I have to clean it." She didn't answer, her eyes glazed over, and barely breathing. "Leona? Leona!"

"Leona... Sorry," she murmured. "Leo—sorry. Shee... Jon... So–sorry..."

"Leona, listen to me," John said, holding the sides of her head so she could look at home. "I need you to stay awake, okay? Stop talking, or else you'll make it worse."

She nodded, and he gently dabbed the wound with the alcoholic substance. She hissed, flinching and moving away. "Don't move!" He snapped, "You can't lose anymore blood."

She took a shaky breath, clenching the bedsheets in her hands, biting her lip, and squeezing her eyes shut. She whimpered as John quickly finished cleaning it, beginning to put some healing cream on it and bandaging it.

"Leona?" He said, she was leaning against Sherlock now, her eyes halfway closed.

"... Tired... Leona..." She mumbled.

"No, no, don't go to sleep!" He said, gently tapping her cheek. "Make sure she doesn't go to sleep, I still need to get to her head."

Sherlock nodded, shaking her to keep her awake as he worked on her chest, checking for any broken ribs, but luckily found none, only bruising.

Now, he went to her head, checking her eyes for dilation by flashing a keychain flashlight at her eyes. There was slight dilation than usual, but the bruised and bleeding around her temple looked dangerous. He quickly began to clean those wounds as well, which fortunately not been bleeding too hard. After he cleaned it up, he realized that not all of it had been her blood. He smirked, proudly.

"What's so funny?" Sherlock demanded, his eyes narrowing.

"Not all the blood in her hair is here's," he explained. "She didn't go down without a fight." Sherlock rolled his eyes, looking away to hide his own proud smirk.

"How is she?"

"She's in shock—"

"Obviously."

"—and most likely a minor concussion, so don't move her too much. She needs to stay warm, and she should be fine to sleep as well, but stay here to make sure that you wake her up every two hours. Don't give her anything to eat just yet, she won't be able to hold it down." He walked into his room, grabbing his coat. "And don't go far, or else she might get scared."

"And where are you going?" Sherlock demanded, irritated.

"Out to get children's pain medication," he answered. "I'll be back in an half hour. Remember, don't go to far from her." And then the front door closed.

If this wasn't the most boring, irritating half hour of Sherlock's life then he didn't know what was. Because of John's instructions, he wasn't to leave her for too long. He huffed, checking his watch, which he accidentally left on his wrist overnight. Three minutes past.

In a half hour, he would have gone mad. Well, madder than he already was.

He huffed, getting up. He left his laptop in the sitting room, and he'd only be gone for a few seconds. She should be fine.

As soon as he left the room, the girl woke up. The sound of her crying rang through the house. He quickly grabbed his laptop and charger, and hurried back to the room.

His eyes widened. The girl was sitting up straight on the bed, which was floating. "Leona?" He said, and she turned to her, and instantly, his bed fell back down.

"Sh–Shee?" She cried.

He rubbed his temple, her crying irritating him. He didn't think he could do this for a half hour.

About forty-five minutes later, John returned. "Sherlock? Leona?"

No answer. He frowned, going into the other room, very surprised at the scene before him. Sherlock's room was a mess. Leona was sitting on the bed, crying, and Sherlock, standing near the side, with his head against the wall, mumbling to himself. "Sherlo—"

"She won't stop crying," he grumbled, looking at him, his eyes angry and his brow twitching. "Make her stop."

John would have laughed at his anger had the situation not been so serious. He went to the window, closing it and pulling the curtains. "When did she start?"

"Forty-two minutes and thirty-two seconds ago," he grumbled. "I tried to get her to shut up, but she just won't!"

"It's a symptom of children's concussions," he answered. "She's just in pain."

"Make her stop!" He hissed angrily.

"Well, yelling won't help," he rolled his eyes, as he rubbed his temples. He went to Leona, "Hey kiddo, come here," he said, placing the plastic bag on the bed. "Lemme give you some medicine. It'll help you get better." He pulled off the cap, pouring her needed measurements into the plastic cup attached to it.

"Here," he said, handing her the cup with pinkish liquid medicine, handing it to her. She didn't move from her fetal position with her head in her knees. "Come on, Leona, it won't get any better unless you take some medicine." She looked at him, her eyes red and very puffy. She then look back at the bottle cap, took it from him and sniffed it.

She cringed, about to give it back but he refused to take it. "You need to take it to get better."

She looked back at the strange substance, but slowly brought it to her mouth, drinking it.

She was about to spit it up, when John suddenly covered it mouth before she could do anything. "Swallow it." She looked absolutely miserable, but did as he said, swallowing the substance and looked back down.

"Good girl," he praised, "Now let me see your stomach." She shook her head, no. Curling up tighter. Even her big, black wings moved as if to protect her from the sandy blonde-haired man.

"Leona," he said in a serious tone, but she shook her head again. "Leona, I need to see how it's healing." He brought his hand to her, but she moved away, shaking her head. "Leo—"

Leona whimpered, tensing up. John frowned, moving to touch her, but she flinched away. John turned to Sherlock, who had now been watching everything.

"Leona, let John help yo—"

"... Mo..." She croaked. "Mo... Tor... A–Ary..."

"Leona, we know that he did this, but—"

"H–He says that... To tell hi–his... Bes–best fri... Friend... He–hello..." She choked on a sob, "Leona... Leona sorry... Leona... Le–Leona scare... Of Mor... To-Ary..."

"Just let John help you," Sherlock said, rather harshly. "We can deal with that bloody bastard later."

"Sherlock, language!" John scolded.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Who are you, Ms. Hudson?"

"No, but apparently I am the only person here functioning like an adult!" He snapped.

"I am 'functioning like an adult', " Sherlock retorted. "But listening to her cry for nearly an hour doesn't help anything!"

"She's in pain!"

"She didn't have to cry for an hour!"

"She wouldn't have been crying if you hadn't woke her up!"

"I walked away for two seconds!"

"Yeah, after I specifically warned you to not leave her side!"

"She could handle herself for two bloody seconds!!"

John shouted in frustration, throwing his hands in the air. He turned back around to continue tending to the child only to find said child missing from her spot.

"Where did she—"

"Under the bed."

"Why?"

"Loud noises scare her."

John sighed, realizing his mistake. He bent near the bottom of the bed, where the tips of her wings still poked out slightly. "Leona, I'm sorry," he sighed. "I didn't mean to scare you—we didn't mean to scare you."

"Actually, I wanted to see how she would—"

"Shut up, Sherlock," John scolded. "Can you come out now?" He asked the girl, which he heard was softly crying, still. He vaguely wondered how many tears she had to shed...

"Leona?" Slowly, she stopped, coming out on the side where he was. She had been careful not to hit her wound on the ground, probably because it hurt. She had been shaking, very scared. "We won't hurt you, I promise Leona."

She gave him a wary look, but moved to sit in the bed anyway. Sherlock stills stood near the edge of the room as he slowly over towards her, ready to pull up her shirt and check it, also apply some more healing medications to it. She seemed very, very scared. Biting her lip, watching her every movement, her eyes darting back and forth, watching for anyone to jump out of the shadows.

Soon, he had finished, and surprisingly, she had still been awake. "Do you want to lie down?" John asked, genuinely worried because of the frozen stay she was in. She looked down at him and not a second later, she dropped. Luckily, he was able to catch her, and lie her safely on the bed.

Glad that this has finally been over, Sherlock grabbed his laptop, ready to leave to room, but John stopped him. "Where do you think you're going?"

"Out of here," he snapped back, but kept his voice low, already learning his lesson on not waking her.

"You need to stay with her."

"Why?!" He drawled.

"She's part bird, Sherlock. The reason why she was scared in the first place was because she couldn't sense you anymore. She thought that you had left her and freaked out." At that moment, John smirked proudly. He was happy that for once he was able to beat the Sherlock Holmes with medical knowledge that he probably didn't feel like indulging in and storing away the information. That was most likely because John himself minored in animal health and behaviour when he went to uni.

"Why don't you stay here?!" He demanded, irritatedly.

"I'm not the one she clings onto whenever she sees them," he answered. "She's obviously more affectionate towards you. She probably thinks of you as her father or something."

"That is idiotic then," he snapped. "You staying here will do just fine."

"Me staying her will worry her and make her start making her cry again. Loudly. Very loudly."

Sherlock sighed. "Look, just stay here 'til she wakes up," John suggested. "Then, we can switch places in front of her, so she knows that both of us are here and she won't be scared."

"Fine," Sherlock grumbled, getting his stuff. "But I want food."

"I'll buy some," John assured as Sherlock climbed into the bed. As soon as he plugged in his laptop, Leona had moved towards him, her face on his arm. Her wings had been loose, relaxed and for once, Sherlock's cold eyes, actually softened.

Run. Run. Run.

Why was she running? Leona wondered as her small feet pounded against the asphalt. Her breath coming out in short, uneven pants. What is she running from? Who's chasing her?

A loud howl ringing though the air was her answer. She stiffened, scampering into the back alley behind a building. She could see the end, the light, but the road seemed to stretch on and on and on an—

Another howl made her yelp. Her feet that had been dragging against the ground. She was scared, so scared. Her heartbeat faster than a mouse's before its death. She didn't want to die, she wanted to stay here with Jon and Shee and Ms. Hutson. She didn't want to go away! No. No!! Don't take her! Stop! She didn't–she didn't want to leave them...!

Leona's face collided with something hard, making her fall on her back. She looked up, it was Jon and Shee!

Happy tears filled her eyes, "Shee! Jo—" she stopped, her face contorting into pure horror as she watch their faces shift from their regular ones, to the ones that was similar to a Eraser's.

"No–No!" She cried, trying to crawl away from them, but they grabbed her arm, forcing her in the air. She screamed, watching as the man, striding up to her with a smile on his face, and his hands in his pockets.

"Now, what's my name?" He asked, tracing his cold, cold fingers tracing the jawline of her cheek. She whimpered, trying to move away, but Jon and Shee held her arms out, keeping her from moving away.

"No! No! No no no no n—"

"What's my name!?" He shouted and she choked on a sob. "Say it!!"

"M... Mo..." She choked again, he cut her arms, slow, long, and very deep. She screamed, trying to move away.

"Say my name!"

"M–Mor... Mort... Mor–tary," she finally choked. "Mor–tary..."

A grin grew on his face, "Say it again."

"Mo–Mo–Mo—"

"Stop stuttering!" He hissed, plunging the knife into her knee. Pain exploded in the appendage, and she squeezed her eyes shut. "Now say it!"

"S... Shee help..." She murmured, hanging her head.

"Calling for him isn't going to help~," he said in a sing-song voice.

"Shee! Shee, help!!"

"Leo...! Leona!"

Leona's eyes snapped open. The first thing she saw was Sherlock, staring her in the face, not even three inches apart from her nose.

Suddenly, he was flying back, slammed against the wall. His eyes widened, having the wind blown out of him, as he crashed to the ground.

Leona was on the bed, with the blanket curled around her body, and her wings covered. Her entire body was shaking with uneven sobs. Sherlock rose from the ground, a bit irritated now. "Leona, calm down, it's just me."

She shook her head, her hands covering her head. "Leona!"

"Mor–tary. Mor–tary. Mor–tary. Mor–tary," she mumbled over and over and over again.

"Leona, listen to me. Listen to my voice. It was just a dream, he's not—" once again, he was slammed to the floor as if the gravity increased on him.

He shakily stood up again, quite irritated now, "Leona!!"

At the intensity of his voice, her head snapped up, her dull brown eyes wide and seemed to glow on and off, as she tried to... 'Control' these abilities she somehow had.

Good, she was giving him her attention. Although she looked almost like a scared, helpless animal, like a deer in headlights, it was still something. He just needed to calm her down, "Listen to my voice, okay? Calm down." He slowly, subtly inched towards her. Leona stared back, actually trying to slow down her breathing.

"Good. Good, now I'm going to sit here," he pulled up a seat beside the bed, still a considerable distance from her. "When I say so, you're going to breath in, okay? And go, breath in. Go," he raised his hand, and she took a breath in. He repeated the process, having her breath out. "Now, tell me what is wrong." He already knew, of course, but he would need her to speak in order for her to calm herself down.

"Mo–Mor–tary... Sh–Shee... Jon... Mor–tary... Hurt... Leona," she gasped as she tried to helplessly form her words. "Shee-Jon... Era–Eraser! Sh–Sh–Shee—!" She couldn't finish her last words.

"Calm down," Sherlock ordered, trying to keep his frustration out of his voice. "Speak clearly so I can understand you."

She took a few deep breathes, "S... Shee-John Eraser... M–Mo–Mor-tary hu–hurt—" she cut herself off, pushing her knees into a ball and balling herself up. "Shee–Shee help Leona? Le–Leona hurt... Sh–Shee—"

"You had a dream that John and I we're 'Erasers' and we gave you to Moriarty to torture," he stated bluntly. Her lip quivered and she tugged on it with her teeth, barely nodding. "It was just a dream, Leona. Not only is it highly unlikely that a situation like that would happen, but neither John nor I would allow it. You are one of the most interesting things that I have ever encountered, and I would not let Moriarty take that away from me before I can solve your case."

She stared up at him, the trembling not yet stopping. "Shee... Shee no-hurt Leona?"

He grimaced at the lack of proper English in her words, "Yes, I suppose you could put it that way. I am one of your guardians after all, and until we can get you situated, it would be improper of me to—" she lunged at him, her arms wrapping themselves around his neck, and making both of them drop to the ground. Sherlock's head collided painfully with the ground and he gave a loud shout in pain.

"Leo—" he was cut off by her happy laughing and salty tears making contact with his pale skin.

"Sh–Shee no-hurt Leona!? Leona free!! Leo–Leona safe, no Whitecoats hurt Leona!" She was giggling madly jumping up and down on top of his chest making him groan in pain, pushing her off roughly. She thought none of it, and continued to laugh and cry madly.

"Leona—"

"T... Thank yous, Shee..." She murmured after she calmed down.

He frowned at her, "Go lie down." She nodded obediently, going back to the bed and lying down. "Go back to sleep," he ordered, sitting on the chair beside her. She nodded, closing her eyes. A warm feeling filled her chest as she slept, knowing that she'd been in a safe environment with two people guarding her — protecting her – when she woke up.


	7. Seven

"I'd be lost without my blogger."

— Sherlock Holmes

Chapter Seven:

"Okay, Leona can you read that for me?" John asked gently, pointing to the title on the Daily Star newspaper. The girl frowned, sinking in his lap. "C'mon, it's not that hard. Just try."

Leona gave a small huff, squinting at the paper, "D... Dare-re... St... Stir... Darey Stir?"

"Close," John smiled at her attempt. "'Daily Star'."

Leona pouted, turning away from the man, "Leona no like Darey Stir." The sound of the door creaking open made the girl shoot up.

"Can't you teach her to not speak in third person? It's irritating," Sherlock said, moving to his chair, as the girl ran at him. He quickly sidestepped before she could collide into his chest and knock him down. Leona kicked off the coffee table and then jumped on the tall man's back.

John cackled at the scene as Sherlock struggled to push the girl the young girl off him. "Leona, 4; Sherlock, 0," John announced and the man shot a glare at him.

"She needs a leash," he grumbled, sitting at his table. Leona's eyes widened at the statement.

"'Leash'?!" She cried.

"Yes, so you can stop jumping on me!" Sherlock knew that arguing with the child was meaningless, it wasn't like she could understand what that was anyway.

Leona twisted her fingers, "Whitecoats give Leona leash when Leona bad..." She murmured, looking at the ground. This caught both of their attentions. "Leona sorry, Leona no mean to be bad..."

Noticing her sadness, John pulled her over, "It's okay, you weren't bad," he assured the girl. "In fact, Sherlock loves it when you do that, he just doesn't realize it yet."

"No I don't," the curly haired man deadpanned, but John smirked.

"See? That means he loves it. Why don't you give him another hug," he let the girl go and she ran at the man, jumping in his lap and squeezing her arms around his neck. He gagged at her abnormal strength. For a child probably no older than five or six, she was unreasonably strong.

Finally, he was able to pry her off, glaring at John the entire time, which he chuckled at, "5-0."

"Shut it," Sherlock hissed, putting he girl on the ground at his feet, he pulled his laptop up, easily going to his page for another case. Leona pulled out her wings, scratching at her feathers, scrunching up her nose and squinting.

The room went silent, only the sounds of clicking on a laptop and the occasional honking from a car could be heard, until finally, there was a knock at the door. "Leona go to your room," Sherlock ordered, shooing the girl away, she frowned, muttering illegible complaints that probably wasn't English before going to the guest room closing the door.

"Come in," John called, and then the door knob twisted open and in came a woman. Sherlock immediately began deducing her as John got up and greeted the woman. She had short hair cut in a boy's cut and was completely white and grey eyes. Her lips painted red, which completely contrasted her skin tone and hair color. She wore a starch white jacket and a loose black maxi skirt. Underneath her shirt was a grey tee-shirt which only peeked out from underneath the top. You didn't have to be a genius to tell she was a albino.

"Hello, I'm John Watson," John greeted, but the woman didn't pay him any mind. Instead she turned to Sherlock, who had now picked up his phone and began to swipe at it, searching for something.

"Holmes," the mysterious woman purred.

"Lorino," Sherlock replied drily.

"How long has it been? Five years?"

"Fifteen," Sherlock corrected. "And I was enjoying every second of it before you arrived back in my life after we agreed to never see each other again."

"Yes, yes," she nodded, as if recalling the memory. "I hear you've become a... What was it? Detective? How fascinating."

"Consulting detective," Sherlock corrected. "Why are you here, Verdana?"

John gave a troubled frown, "Wait, Verdana? As in the font?"

"Yes," the woman answered, as if she had been asked that question nearly every day. "I even have a brother named Times New Roman."

John chuckled, "Funny." The woman turned to him, giving him a flat look. He blinked, "O–Oh. You're serious... Wow. Uh..." He cleared his throat awkwardly, sitting up in his seat. "Do–Do you have a case for us, Ms. Lorino."

The woman gave a slight nod of her head, "Yes, I do," she turned back to Sherlock. "I'm sure you are aware of my career choice, Holmes."

"Working with my brother? Yes, I was made well aware," Sherlock grumbled.

"Then you already know of our... Predicament." Sherlock narrowed his dark eyes.

"No," he denied immediately.

"We aren't asking you to kill it, Holmes, we simply need it contained," Verdana explained. "All you have to do is find it for us, we'll do the rest."

"I assume when you say 'the rest', you refer to putting it down?" Sherlock glared.

"I–I'm sorry, I'm a bit lost. Fill me on the issue," John spoke up, giving the two confused looks.

"After you two came back from the Baskerville... Incident, there was a disappearance in one of the animals stationed there," Verdana explained. "All you have to do is simply look at the evidence and tell us what you think."

"And why can't Mycroft do this?" Sherlock demanded.

"Your brother is currently in Tanzania holding a very important meeting," she replied.

"Look, Ms. Lorino," John sighed, "Sherlock obviously doesn't want to help you find it so would you please leave."

The woman gave John a glare, but he returned it with a tight-lipped smile. "Withholding information can be considered treason against the country, Holmes," the woman said carefully. "If you have any clue where this thing is—"

"Even then I wouldn't have told you," Sherlock replied in a dull tone. "You lost on of your pets, why should I find it for you. In fact, if you hadn't tested on it in the first place then—"

"It was for science!"

Sherlock's crystal blue eyes narrowed at the albino woman, "Leave, Verdana."

"Since when do you care for failed science experiments, Sherlock?" Verdana demanded, "It's just an animal."

Sherlock tried not to glare at woman, "I said leave." Verdana and Sherlock had a staring contest for what seemed like forever, before she finally got up, grabbing her small bag and left, closing the door behind her.

After watch her car roll down the busy London street, John stood up. "I'm going to get Leona," John announced leaving the room. Sherlock didn't reply, he only continued working on his laptop, until Leona came in.

Sherlock barely glanced at the girl, "What's wrong with her?"

The girl twisted her thumbs, "Leona is 'it'...?" John froze, running a hand down his face.

"No, no you're not, Leona," John assured, placing a hand on the girl's shoulder. "That mean lady called you an it. If Sherlock and I didn't then she would take you away."

She nodded, "Leona is no it?" She beamed.

"Dear god, teach her to speak in first person!" Sherlock complained, setting his laptop on the table, "It's agitating!"

"She can barely speak English!" John shot back, "She needs to learn to speak full sentences first."

Leona looked at Sherlock and grinned, running over to jump on him. "Shee!" She smiled, squeezing the life out of him, her wings fluffing up with excitement. Sherlock groaned, trying to pry the girl off him and John chuckled.

"6-0."

"Shut up."


	8. Eight

"We're just alike, you and I."

— Mortiarty

Chapter Eight:

Their gloved hands explored Leona's bare body, their sharp tools slicing through her skin. Leona tried to scream, but her cries and wails were drowned out by the muzzle tightly strapped to her face, keeping her from opening her mouth at all. They all leaned over her body, examining her insides with cold curiosity. It made shivers run down her spine, and she couldn't help the sob that rose and died in her throat.

Leona thrashed, trying anything to get away from them, their cold, sleek hands and their dark eyes. Their faces, that were covered by white masks blended into their skin, twisting into horrifying smiles. Their teeth were a bloody red, almost as bloody as their hands that were stained in her blood.

Despite her chaos and muffled screaming, she heard the sharp clicking of footsteps echoing behind her, but she couldn't move because of the straps on her forehead keeping her head still. She could only wait, anxiety building up inside her as the clicking only got louder and louder. It seemed to turn from a small tapping to a screeching roar in her ears with every step.

Leona begged blubberingly, pleading with them to stop, but with her only means of communication silenced, it was no use. They continued to prod at her body and the clicking continued to grow louder. Leona felt like she was going to go insane! She wanted it to stop! Make it stop!

Someone grabbed her skull, and in one clean motion detached it from her shoulders, holding it up to their face. Leona stared, wide eyed, at Mortiarty's gleaming smile, his teeth the same as the Whitecoats who were still slicing open her body. "What's my name!?" He hissed, and Leona began to cry, "Say it!"

"Mor..." She sobbed, still in shock from the events happening. "Mor... Tary..."

"Faster!!"

"Mor-tary! Mor-tary!" Leona wailed, wishing that this would be over, that he would just kill her already.

For once, her hopes were answered as Mortiarty pulled out gun, and pressed it against her decapitated skull, "Tell Sherry I said hi!" Then, he squeezed the trigger.

The first thing Leona wanted to do when she woke up was vomit, but instead, she rolled off the bed, right next to the nightstand where there was a rubbish bin. Leona emptied the contents of her stomach there and shuddered when she finished. She could still feel their hands roaming her body, their tools violating her skin. It made her want to vomit again. So she did.

After she had finished and the bitter taste of bile lurked in her mouth, Leona leaned against the bed and cried into her knees. Jon always left the light on in her room — which, was actually his room, but he had been sleeping on the couch whenever Leona didn't take his bed. He would grumble about it, but never told her to sleep on the couch though.

Leona was scared, and she didn't want to be alone, she quickly jumped up, pulling on the door and looked into the hall.

It was dark. Shadows crept along the corner, and created the shape of Whitecoats in their wake. Leona froze, memories of being stuck in cage for years and tested until she couldn't breathe haunted her mind. Leona ran, her small feet pounding against the ground in soft thumps. There was a light on in the living room, that dully glowed in the darkness, so she ran in there.

Sherlock was sitting on his chair, the lamp on beside him. He was slumped over and fast asleep. The laptop was on the table, and so was an empty mug. Leona quickly ran over, curling up in his lap, her wings laid behind her. Sherlock didn't wake, even though one of her feathers tickled his cheek.

Leona always felt safer with him, and she didn't know why. She took a deep breath, and slowly allowed herself to fall asleep. He said he'd protect her, and she hoped he would keep this promise.

The weight on Sherlock's lap startled him as he woke up the next morning. He remembered falling asleep in his chair after working late the night before. It couldn't be his laptop, it was far too heavy. And it was long and... Soft. Like a downy feather.

Sherlock glanced down, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes to see Leona, stretched across his lap on her stomach, sound asleep. Her wings were facing him, and his hand had rested on them, which was what gave him the soft sensation he felt moments ago.

Sherlock stared at the girl. He remembered putting her to sleep in John's room the night before, then strictly telling her not to leave his room until morning. Obviously she had disobeyed him and went out of her way to sleep with him — the same habit he was trying to break from her.

Sherlock sighed, shaking Leona awake, "Leona, wake up," he ordered the girl, and her eyes slowly cracked open. "I told you that you had to sleep by yourself last night. Why are you in here?"

"Le..." Leona cut herself of with a yawn, stretching her wings. The joints in them popped loudly from being in such a bad, stiff position for a long time. She slipped off his lap and sat in front of him, grinning goofily. "Leona had bad dream. Leona sleep with Shee to make bad dream good!"

"No, Leona," Sherlock sighed. "We talked about this. You need to learn—"

"Leona scared," Leona whispered, remembering her dream. "Whitecoats hurt Leona. Mor-tary hurt Leona. Leona want Shee, Shee no-hurt Leona!" A giggle slipped past her lips, remembering when he promised her that a few weeks ago.

"That doesn't mean you can come in here and sleep on my lap because you were scared," Sherlock said sternly. Leona's face fell at the lecture and her wings drooped a little too.

"Leona sorry," Leona murmured. "Leona scared. Leona just want no scared."

"Then, you would have to wait until the next morning." Leona gave a nod, as John entered the room. He saw Sherlock and Leona and gave them a strange look.

"What happened?" He asked, searching the cabinets and pulling out cooking supplies.

"I woke up and found Leona asleep on my lap," Sherlock replied, and John hooted a laugh.

"Damn! Wish I took a picture!"

"I wouldn't have allowed you," Sherlock rolled his eyes, and Leona stood, running over to John and smiled at him.

"What Jon making?" She asked, her eyes shining at the ingredients on the counter.

"Pancakes," he smirked, "You wanna help?" Leona cocked her head to the side, her eyebrows furrowed.

"Leona no know what pen-cakes are."

"Pancakes," he corrected. "And you can help, if you read this to me." He pulled out the bagged flour and showed it to her. "It has the words we're working on in it. Try it."

Leona frowned, staring at the bag with determination, "Fl... Flo... Flow... Flo-wer? Flo-rer... Fl... Flour? Flour!" She looked at John, smiling from ear to ear, "Flour! Flour!"

"Good job!" He praised as she giggled loudly. John prepared the ingredients to make the pancake batter — flour, water, sugar, eggs, and vegetable oil.

After scrubbing her hands clean, Leona happily helped him pour the flour, and played when they finished. In minutes, her face was caked in flour with powdery streaks on in her hair when she touched it.

Next were the eggs. He needed to crack two, and allowed Leona to crack one as well. John came behind her, and held onto her small hands as he helped her crack the egg. "Whoa..." Leona awed, watching as the egg yolk slid out on the broken shell.

"Eggs come from chickens who lay them," John explained, taking her hands to the sink to wash them.

"What check-in?"

"A chicken is a type of bird."

"Bird?" John nodded, "Like Leona?" John stared at her, confused for a moment, before hooting out a laugh.

"Oh! No, no, Leona," He chuckled, shaking his head. "You can't lay eggs. You're a person, not a bird."

"Oh..." Leona frowned, disappointed. John gave her a sympathetic smile, resting a large hand on her head.

"Don't worry, you're a special kind of person, so that's even better." At this, Leona cheered, and ran back over to the counter to help with the pancakes.

Leona helped John pour in the water, and mix the substance with a fork. Then, he put vegetable oil in it, and a drop got on Leona's hand, making them very slippery. Leona squealed at the feeling, giggling as she touched her hands and then John.

John chuckled at her antics, finding them absolutely adorable. "Go sit down," he told her. "I gotta put them on the stove and it'll be hot. I don't want you getting burned," Leona nodded, and ran over to Sherlock, who was working on his laptop.

"Stop!" He snapped, just before she could jump on him. Leona obeyed, but stared a him, confused. "No jumping right now. I have work to do." He told her, closing the head of his laptop. Leona didn't listen and jumped on him anyway, wrapping her small arms around his neck.

"Shee!" She giggled and he let out a strained groan. Peeling her arms away, he set her down, and scolded her. She wasn't listening — her short attention span entrapped by a bird that landed on the window sill.

Sherlock sighed, letting her go, and she giggled, running over to go watch it. "What were you working on?" John asked from the kitchen as he flipped the pancakes.

"Her case," Sherlock answered.

"What do you have so far?"

"I was looking into Baskerville, and they haven't reported anything strange," Sherlock frowned. There had been two more cases of dead men like the one they had seen, but those were covered up too quickly, not giving Sherlock the chance to look into them. Sherlock scowled at the thought, his brother probably knew what he was up to. Now, it was becoming a matter if who could get to it first.

"What about that doctor we spoke to before, uhm..." John paused to recall her name. "Sta... Stapleton! You think she would know anyone about Leona?"

"Probably," Sherlock agreed. "But asking her would be risking her to believing that we have Leona."

John nodded agreeing, but couldn't help feeling a bit upset. That had been a rather good idea. "Does your brother know what they did to her?" Sherlock rose an eyebrow at his question.

"We already established this, we cannot ask him or else he would—"

"I know, I know," John interrupted and sighed. "But, has he met her? Maybe he change his mind if he met her. She's just a little kid, anyone could see that. You did. What's stopping him?"

"The fact that she's nothing more than a paycheck to him," Sherlock replied sharply. "He'll never see her as a child because of what they did to her. We're not going to be able to keep him in the dark forever. How are we supposed to explain a child showing up in our flat and perfectly fine with being around us? There's too many complications, too many things that could go wrong. We'd be better off keep her a secret than telling him."

John sighed, knowing that Sherlock was right, but he couldn't help but feel a bit guilty. Leona would never get to live a normal life because of what they did to her.

As if sensing someone talking about her, Leona looked up, and the bird she was watching flew away. She sniffed, smelling the pancakes that John placed on a plate. Leona ran over, but he stopped her, "Ah! Ah! Ah!" He snapped, and she stopped in her tracks. "I'm not done yet and the stove is still hot. Go sit down." Leona wings dropped a bit, but she turned around and sat on the ground beside Sherlock.

"Why does she listen to you but not me?" Sherlock demanded, shooting a glare toward his flatmate.

John shrugged, but there was a smirk on his lips, "It's a matter of authority, I suppose." He flipped another pancake on the stove, and prepared a few more. Leona leaned over the arm of Sherlock's chair.

"What is it?" He asked, while he typed into the computer.

"Leona colour?" She asked. He sighed, but pulled open the drawer on the stand revealing a package of crayons and printer papers. Leona grinned and grabbed a sheet with the crayons and began to colour on the wooden floor.

Everyone was silent for a several minutes. The smell of pancakes sizzling on the stove nearly making Leona drool, but she knew what would happen if she wasn't patient. Finally John made Leona a plate and set out the blanket they had bought for her on the ground. Since the kitchen table was usually cluttered in Sherlock's experiments, she was to eat there, until he bought her a separate table, or forced Sherlock to clean the kitchen.

John didn't have to tell her to eat. Leona bounced over, bringing her crayons and papers with her, and plopped down on the blanket. She reached down to take a piece of the triangularly cut pancakes, but when she touched it, her fingers came back sticky from a brown substance. Leona was easily amused by this, and licked her finger. It tasted very sweet too. She giggled and ate the rest of her pancakes, licking her fingers with every bite, then getting them more sticky.

John didn't mind the young girl's curiosity. She did say she had never had pancakes before. That was her way of exploring new things. If anything, John encouraged it, wanting to make her childhood as normal as they could.

Once Leona finished her food, she had syrup left over, but creatively found a way to use it to paint on the printer paper she normally used to colour. She giggled, making her own finger-painted art. Leona looked up, but neither adult were watching her. She stood and walked over to Sherlock, who still had his nose buried in his laptop. Carefully, she tapped on his cheek, and he jumped. Before he could pull away, she had drawn a scraggily looking smiley face.

"Hehe, Shee pretty!" She giggled.

"Wha—!? Leona!" Sherlock wiped at his face, his fingers coming back sticky with syrup and he cringed. Leona tried to climb into his lap, but he firmly held her away from him. "Please, clean her hands," Sherlock said to John, who was chuckling and somehow managed to not choke on his food. John stood, cleaning up Leona's mess, then led her away by her hands so she couldn't touch anything else.

"Leona make Jon pretty?" Leona asked, as they entered the bathroom, and the man chuckled.

"I appreciate the offer, love, but no thank you," John told her, helping her wash her hands in the sink. "That'll probably be the last time we try pancakes." Once he finished, he gave Leona a pat on the back, "Go colour." She giggled and ran into the other room.

Leona stopped just at the end of the hall when she heard something in the other room. She sniffed, they didn't smell normal, was it new people?

She went quiet in order to listen to their conversation, "We've spent enough time playing games, Sherlock, do you have the bird?"

"Why would I have it if I told you I wasn't doing that case," Sherlock retorted. John came out of the bathroom, and saw Leona easily. He came to her side, and stiffened when he heard the voices in the sitting room.

"If you have found it, and are using it for your own selfish purposes—"

"I don't have her, Mycroft," Sherlock said with an exasperated sigh.

Both men were quiet, until you could hear Sherlock mumble a swear under his breath. John ushered Leona into his room, and pushed her into his dark closet. "Hide," he told her. She gave a small cry, but he covered her mouth before she could speak. "I know, it's dark. I'm so sorry, but please, Leona. Just hide." Then, he closed the door.

Leona sank into the closet, trembling. Her mind recalled all the times when she and a clone of herself were put into a room and forced to fight. Sometimes, they'd keep the lights on, making it easy for Leona — a quick snap to the neck always sufficed. But, other times they would make it hard for her. They would turn out the lights and expect them to brawl in pitch darkness. An attack could come from any and all sides. It left her on edge, waiting for someone to grab her.

Tears lined Leona's face as she heard more talking. "... Mycroft! Stop! This is unnecessary! We don't have it!"

"Step aside, brother," came the cold voice from earlier. Whitecoat, Leona thought instantly. They were going to take her again. She wanted to get up, to hide somewhere else, but the closet was small, and her movements only made the door rattle slightly.

The room went silent, and she heard footsteps that click-clacked on the floor. She tensed, remembering her dream. Not Mor-tary, not Mor-tary!

The man stared down at her. He had dark hair and dark eyes, and wore a black suit. His face was pointy and his features vaguely reminded her of Shee's. His eyes, however, were wide and confused. Leona stared up at him, then ran over to Sherlock who stood at the door. "Shee!" She cried, hugging his leg. For once, Sherlock didn't argue.

"It's... A child," the man spoke, slowly. "Where's the bird? Sherlock, what did you—"

"Mycroft," John cut the man off. "She... Is the bird."

"That's not possible," he frowned. "She can't be." Leona reached up, wanting Sherlock to pick her up, and he did. He grabbed her under the arms and held her to his chest. The motion wasn't a comforting one, however, more of a way to make a point. The way he held her revealed the big black wings on her back that the usually kept hidden to anyone. He was astounded, and stared at the girl, or more so, her wings.

"She came to us like this," Sherlock told him. "John found her first, she was running from Baskerville, then she shows up at our flat, injured."

The man walked forward, towards Leona. His brow was furrowed, and Leona gave a sharp cry, pressing her face into Sherlock's collar bone. Her wings trembled on her back, as she cowered away from him. "You're scaring her," John told the man. John walked over to Sherlock, taking Leona out of his hands. "Let's go in the other room and colour, okay love?" Leona gave a teary nod as John walked them away.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Mycroft demanded, holding the bridge of his nose.

"What was I supposed to say, Mycroft?" Sherlock rolled his eyes, "'We found your bird, but, hey, turns out she's a five-year old!'"

"Yes! That would've been quite helpful information!" Mycroft snapped. Both of them went silent, calming down in order to talk rationally. Sherlock broke the silence.

"How did you not know that she wasn't a bird?" Sherlock asked, sipping a cup of his steaming tea.

"When they reported a missing specimen, they said it was 'cross-bred with a monkey, giving it a human like shape'." Mycroft sat down in John's chair, "They expected her to be in the sky, and if someone spotted a bird with a vaguely human shape, they shoot."

"What now?" Sherlock asked, his voice calmer. Everything relied on this moment, now that Mycroft knew. He could either take her away, or leave her and risk losing hurting his reputation.

"... I'll have a talk with the scientists at Baskerville. Hopefully we'll figure out a way to sort this out peacefully."

"And keep Leona here?" Sherlock added, sipping a bit of his tea casually, but his point was clear.

"Yes." Sherlock could feel the weight relieved from his shoulders. "I'll do an extensive search for anymore children like her, and get the program closed."

Sherlock nodded and Leona came running in the room, John chasing after her. "Shee!" She giggled, jumping on him. Sherlock winced as she wrapped her arms around his neck, and smiled. "Shee play wit' Leona, Jon?"

"Not right now, Leona," Sherlock told her.

"'Leona'?" Mycroft spoke up, trying the name on his tongue. Leona turned and shied away from the man, peeking an eye out from Sherlock's neck to watch him. He sent her a smile, bending to her level, "I am Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock's brother. It's nice to meet you, Leona." He held out a hand to the girl and she stared at it. Slowly, she took his finger, and poked it on its side.

"Mii-crof." She said and gave him a small smile as well. "Mii-crof play wit' Leona?"

"I'm afraid I can't at the moment, dear," he told her, his voice surprisingly soft. "Maybe next time, alright?" Leona nodded eagerly at the opportunity and giggled. Mycroft stood addressing the two men. "And you two will take care of her? Treat her properly?"

"We can't just ignore her, brother," Sherlock rolled his eyes stubbornly. "She'd just come back again."

Mycroft scoffed, and stood, "Goodbye." He said, before leaving the room.

The next morning, Sherlock read the headlines, a smirk on his face.

"GOVERNMENT CONSPIRACY THEORY CONFIRMED? HUMAN EXPERIMENTATION!"

"'BASKERVILLE SCIENCE PROGRAM SHUT DOWN BECAUSE OF 'QUESTIONABLE MOTIVES'!"

"EIGHT CHILDREN CONFIRMED DEAD AFTER POLICE INVESTIGATION TURNED DANGEROUS?!"

"TEN SCIENTIST ARRESTED FOR 'INHUMANE EXPERIMENTATION'!"

"Shee!" Leona called bouncing into the room. Her hair were two puff balls on her head, and she wore a shirt John bought her. She jumped into his lap, and he winced. John walked in behind her, and chuckled.

"12-0."

"Shut it," Sherlock growled. Leona played his his hair, twisting one of his curls on her finger and giggled. He rolled his eyes and turned back to his phone, reading more headlines. A smirk danced his lips.

Case closed.

Lol I'm so happy I can finally write with the script now! Things are gonna turn a bit more interesting as storyline goes, and will take a while to write so bear with me. I might split it into two chapters, maybe, but idk. I'll do that when I get there.

Expect a lot of 'Uncle Mycroft' in the near future too, because he's gonna spoil my baby to death lol.

Welp, I'll see y'all at the Fall, and remember...

Don't melt~!

~ Happyritas OOO


	9. Nine

"The Fall. But don't be scared. Falling's just like flying except there's a more permanent destination." – Jim Moriarty

Chapter Nine:

"Where Shee?" Leona asked, watching from the table as Ms. Hudson did her laundry. Leona had tried helping, but only resulted in getting the clothes balled up an wrinkled.

"He's out, dear," Ms. Hudson replied with a patient smile.

"Out where?"

"In the city. He's getting a medal!"

"A... A mend-dell? What mend-dell?"

"It's a reward," Ms. Hudson smiled.

"Jon give Leona reward when Leona good!" Leona said, and the woman laughed heartily.

"Then, we'll make cookies, since you're being such a good girl today," Ms. Hudson promised, and Leona's face lit up as she cried, 'cookie!' over and over again.

Leona heard someone walking near the front door and stopped, talking. A key was shoved into the lock of the door and it opened, letting the noise of a busy street in for a moment. She recognize the scent immediately and raced out of her chair. "Shee!" Leona cried, running down the hall, barreling straight into the tall man in the trench coat.

Sherlock grunted as the girl wrapped her arms around his own. Leona was getting pretty tall for a five year old, and nearing half his own height. John came in beside him, laughing as he hung up his coat on the rack.

"16-0," He piped and Sherlock shot him a dirty look. John ignored it and bent down towards the girl, "Can I get a hug too?"

"Jon!" Leona squealed, wrapping her arms tight around his neck, as if she hadn't seen him in years.

John laughed standing, carrying the child with him. "What have you been up to all day?" He asked the giggling girl.

"Leona an' Ms. Hutson fix colour! Then, Ms. Hutson fix hot clothes an' eat snacks! Ms. Hutson say Leona make cookie! Jon make cookie wit' Leona? Cookie smell good! Leona like cookie!"

John chuckled, ruffling the girl's hair, "Of course I will." Leona giggled, and John could feel her wings fluffing behind her by the way he held her. "Do you wanna see the hat that Sherlock got, Leona?"

Leona cocked her head, "Ha... Hat?"

"Yep, hat, what does that rhyme with?"

Leona thought for a second, "Mm...

Mat!" She giggled, and John nodded, pleased with her learning.

"Yes, good job! Sherlock got a new hat, do you want to see?"

"She can have it for all I care," Sherlock grumbled. Leona looked at him, confused, and John laughed.

"It's not that bad, Sherlock," John insisted, but the man was not pleased. The man huffed, but strode up the steps quickly.

Ms. Hudson stepped out of the back room to greet John. "How was the ceremony, dear?" She asked.

"Fine, but Sherlock was grumpy the entire time," John said with a chuckle. "I expect Leona was behaving while we were gone?"

Leona nodded, giggling, "Leona good! Leona get cookie!"

Ms. Hudson laughed at the young girl's antics, "Yes, she was."

Leona beamed and John chuckled, "Well, if Ms. Hudson says so. I'll be upstairs with Sherlock." John set Leona on the ground and headed for the stairs.

Ms. Hudson took her hand as he climbed the wooden staircase, "Come along, deary. I'll be done with my clothes in a minute, and then we'll made chocolate chip cookies, okay?"

Leona bounced in excitement, "Cookie! Cookie!!" She cheered, following the woman.

After Leona and Ms. Hudson baked the cookies, making the entire parlour smell like freshly baked cookies. Leona couldn't sit still as the delicious scent, wafted through the apartment.

When the cookies were finally done and cooled off, Ms. Hudson told her she could take them up to Sherlock and John. She would've done it herself, but she had gotten an emergency phone call and had to hurry off to a friend's flat. She wrote a note and told her to give it to John when she went up as she was tugging on her coat. Leona nodded, and hurried up the steps, careful not to drop the warm cookies.

Leona doesn't touch the door to open it. Sherlock was talking as she entered, "... 'Til they're solved." He turned to her, barely a interested glance, "Where's Ms. Hudson?"

Leona set the cookies down on the nightstand and handed John the note like Ms. Hudson instructed her. John skimmed over it, "Had to head to a friends' who had having... Issues," John answered vaguely.

"Ms. Hutson okay?" Leona asked, worried.

"Of course love," John assured and Leona let out a sigh of relief. "Did you make these cookies?" Leona smiled wide at the subject change, and nodded. John lifted the plastic lid and tried a cookie.

John nearly choked, but covered his mouth to keep himself from spitting it up. Leona was grinning ear to ear as John forced himself to swallow it.

"W... Wow, Leona... That was..." He coughed, "Interesting. What did you put in that?"

Leona giggled, "Ms. Hutson says Leona put in special in... In-grade-meant in it, so Leona put special bubbles!" Sherlock barked out a laugh and John gave her a strained smile.

"What do you mean by... Uhm, special bubbles, Leona?" Leona ran to the sink, bringing back the dish detergent and showed it to John happily.

"Special bubbles!" She giggled. Sherlock was rolling in laughter, and John glared at him.

"Well, they were delicious, love, but here's a tip: next time, add a different special ingredients like sprinkles. They make your cookies shiny." Leona nodded solemnly at his words, committing his tip to memory. Sherlock, on the other hand, was chuckling still. John noticed, "Why don't you get Shee to try some, hmm?" Leona nodded and ran over to him.

Sherlock was looking down a microscope, but looked over to her as she ran. "What are you—" his wasn't able to finish his sentence as the young girl shoved a chocolate soap cookie down his throat, and smiled.

"Shee like cookie?" Leona asked, grinning up at him. Sherlock gagged at the revolting taste, grabbing a napkin off the table and turning around to spit it into it.

"That's dis—" Sherlock began, turning back to the young girl. She was looking up at him with wide-eyed with anticipation. "... They're fine." Leona squealed, hugging on his arm.

"Shee want more cookie?" Leona asked.

"No thank you, Leona. Go sit with John." Leona nodded, hugging him tight around the waist before running off to the other man.

Leona watched John read the newspaper, and would point out words that she knew.

Sherlock's phone buzzed for the third time in an row, and John sighed, standing up. "I'll get it, shall I?" He said, tetchily. John read over the messages, shock and horror slowly growing on his features. Finally, he thrusts it towards Sherlock, "Here."

Sherlock didn't move from his microscope, "Not now, I'm busy," he spoke, irritably.

"Sherlock..."

"Not now," he repeated.

Leona can tell that John is scared. Not only can she smell it, but she can tell. He's breathing heavily, his other hand, the one that's not holding the phone, clenched by his side.

Sherlock noticed as well and turned to him, "He's back." Sherlock took the phone and read the text message that was being clearly displayed.

'Come and play.

Tower Hill.

Jim Moriarty x.'

Leona stood beside John while they watched the video recording of the break-in, "That glass is tougher than anything," Lestrade spoke.

"Not tougher than crystallised carbon. He used a diamond," Sherlock spoke, watching the video raptly.

Leona didn't understand what was happening. She saw Mor-tary in the video, but he wasn't doing anything. She was still tense though, and imagined what would happen if he jumped through the video to strangle her to death. Leona cringed, she didn't like that thought.

"Come here, love," John spoke, taking Leona's hand. He led her to the door where Sally Donavon stood. "Sally, do you mind watching her? I... Don't want her to see this."

Sally gave him a funny look, but nodded, "Course." Leona went with Sally, as she stepped out of the room.

Leona slumped against the wall, her knees curled up. Sally gave her a worried look, "You alright, love?" She asked, bending down to the young girl's level.

Leona looked at her. The first time she had met the woman, she called Sherlock a freak. She didn't know what that meant, but it didn't sound nice at all. But now, she seemed... Nice. Like John was after she had a bad dream, or Ms. Hudson whenever she gave her a prize. Leona inhaled, "Shee trouble?"

"'Shee'?" The woman repeated, a tad bit confused. "Who's... Oh. Sherlock! Oh, that's absolutely adorable!" Sally laughed, shaking her head. "No, sweetheart, 'Shee' isn't in trouble, don't worry." Leona nodded hesitantly, and the woman sensed her discomfort. Deciding to change it to a more positive topic, she asked, "So, how do you like living with John and," she snickered, "'Shee'?"

Leona smiled, happy to reply, "Jon nice! He make Leona food! Shee funny, Leona like Shee hair! Ms. Hutson nice too! Ms. Hutson let Leona make special cookie!" Sally was chuckled at the way the girl spoke, and she continued. "Shee no like when–when Leona give him hug, but Jon say he does! Leona like when Shee rub Leona wings!"

"When he rubs your wings?" Sally laughed.

Leona nodded, "He no like when Leona flys though, Leona like fly, but Shee say no."

"Oh really? What do you mean by fly?"

"Wit' Leona wings," She explained. "Leona goes high, but Leona no fly now."

Sally laughed at the girl's peculiar imagination. "And you use your wings?" Leona nodded. "Can I see these wings?" Leona frowned for a second, would John and Sherlock be mad if she showed her? She was nice, like Ms. Hudson, and they let her show Uncle Mycroft too.

Leona took off her shirt, revealing a nude coloured tee-shirt, and the woman rose an eyebrow. Before she could say anything, Leona had undone the bandages and released her wings, smiling. "What the—!?" Sally jumped, scrambling back. She managed to bump into the closed door as she reached for her gun.

Leona saw the gun in the woman's hand and cried out. She fell to her knees, covering her head, trembling.

The door opened, Sherlock and John stepped out. John looked at Leona and swore, "Leona!" He hissed, grabbing her shirt off the floor and wrestling with her to put it back on her.

Lestrade came out as well, looking at Sally, who will had her gun out. "Donavan!? Why the hell—!?"

"Sherlock, if you don't start explaining what the hell happened to her—" Sally growled, recomposing herself. She stood, the gun not leaving her hand.

"Donavan! Drop the gun!" Lestrade snapped.

"Look at what that bastard did to her!!" Sally snarled. "What the hell is wrong with you!?"

"If you're assuming that I am the cause of what happened to Leona, then you are incorrect," Sherlock told the derailed woman. "Drop the weapon, Donavon, we all know you're not going to shoot either of us."

"You wanna fuckin' bet, freak!?" Sally snapped, advancing on the sociopath. Lestrade stopped her, his grip tight around her arm.

"I said stop, Donavon!" Lestrade growled, "I will have you suspened—"

"Look at the kid, Greg!" Sally snapped, "Look at her!"

Lestrade glanced over. John was still trying to get the shirt over top her massive wings. He gave up, deciding to take off his jacket and draping it over her. He wasn't fast enough, and Lestrade saw the dark brown-black wings that were flailing under the weight of the jacket. He gaped, his eyes wide.

"This is–is–is just a big misunderstanding," John tried to say, but had to turn back to the crying girl to get her settled.

"How do you justify that!?" Sally snapped, "How is that even possible!? Are they real?!"

"Of course they're real, don't be a moron, Donavon," Sherlock said, rolling his eyes. Sally's eyes grew with rage, and she pressed forward on Sherlock, not letting Lestrade stop her. She pushed him against the wall, her gun to his head.

"You'd better start explaining this, freak, or I'll will pull this trigger," Sally growled, her tone dangerously low and filled with rage.

"No you won't," he replied. At that, Sally undid the safety.

Leona looked up at the familiar sound of a gun being cocked, and reacted on adrenaline. She ran over, slipping past John to get to Sherlock and Sally. Leona tackled the woman, yanking the gun out of her hand with such force that it caused the woman to squeeze the trigger.

A shot rang out, skimming Leona's ear, but it was close enough, and loud enough, to leave the girl reeling. Leona dropped the gun and covered her ring in ears. She felt like everyone was going... Slow around her. She could feel the warm blood on her hands that trickled down the sides of her face. She heard shouting and angry voices. She didn't like it. It made her feel... Small. Leona's wings curled around her in a meek attempt to hide away.

Someone tried to pry her hand away from her bleeding ear, and she flinched at the cold touch. Something heavy was placed around her shoulders, and she was lifted into the air.

Everything was disorientating. She couldn't tell up from grass, left from backwards. Her surroundings blurred past, and she barely remembered herself going to sleep.

Leona woke up hours later. It was dark outside. She turned, knowing she had been in Sherlock's bed immediately. She could tell by the smell. It smelled like his hair when he got out of the... Falling water box.

Leona was about to fall back asleep when she heard strange sound. It was... She couldn't describe it. It was soft and... Sounded like water was gliding in the air. Leona sat up, holding her head when she felt the inevitable head rush for a moment. The sound hadn't stopped, but it had changed. Different sounds now.

Leona opened the door slowly, noticing that she wore one of John's big white shirts. Her feet gently padded against the floor as she entered the sitting room. Sherlock was standing, with a strange thing on his neck. He was making the sound, but had stopped when he heard Leona enter.

"You're awake," he noted. Dropping the thing he held to his neck. Leona walked over, and gently touched it. Sherlock didn't stop her, however he did keep talking. "You're going to be the death of me..." He muttered, raising a hand to rub the bridge of his nose. "Why show her your wings? You don't know how much time it took for John and I to explain, and to make sure Donavon kept her bloody mouth shut. She would probably try to call Social Services, if we hadn't. Then, she nearly shot your bloody ear off, dumb bitch..." Sherlock hadn't meant for that last part to come out, but relaxed when Leona hadn't noticed, being too interested in the makings of the strange thing he held.

Leona's small fingers grazed the string, one of them holding too long, causing it to pluck sharply. Leona gasped, staring at it, before trying again and giggled when it made the sound again.

"Shee?" Leona spoke, not taking her eyes off it.

"What?"

"What it?"

"It's my violin."

"What... What vii... Ol-lien?" She asked, sounding out the word in order to say it.

"It's an instrument. It's used to make music."

"What mew-sick?"

Sherlock rose an eyebrow, "Music?" She nodded, "Music is a combination of different sounds that when put together creates a song. It's like a book. One page would be the music, but the entire book would be a song."

"What song?" Sherlock pressed his lips together, bringing the instrument to his chin again. He began to play. It was the same sounds as she heard when she was walking down the hall. Leona stared at him, her eyes wide with amazement and wonder. She wondered how such a small thing could create such a beautiful sound. It seemed... Unreal. Impossible, even.

After several minutes, he was done. When Leona noticed that the sounds were over, she smiled and giggled, "Again! Again!"

Sherlock rose an eyebrow, but played another. Leona ran over to his chair, and sat down. Her feet didn't even reach the ends of the chair when her back was against the side. She stared at Sherlock as he played more sounds, clapping her hands when he finished, asking for more. He entertained her with fast sounds, slow sounds, sounds that were dragged out an beautiful, and others that were jagged and quick. He even pulled on the string like she had accidentally done.

Leona loved every one, staying up with him for hours until her small, five-year old body couldn't keep her eyes awake any longer. The sounds of a fast song lulled her to sleep.

Part one of the Fall! I'm pretty sure there be four, maaaaybe five parts.

What do y'all think of the 'Donavon Situation'? Excited? Upset? I needed Lestrade to know about her wings, but the only way to go at it properly was with Sally.

I don't have much else to say, lol. I hope you guys enjoyed the update, I enjoyed writing it! I can't wait for the next couple parts, and then, the inevitable Fall~! What you do think'll happen? I'm so excited!

Welp, I'll see y'all next time, and remember...

Don't melt~!

~ Happyritas OOO


	10. Ten

"Mediocrity knows nothing higher than itself, but talent instantly recognizes genius." — Sherlock Holmes

Chapter Ten:

Sherlock made Leona stay home for the next few days. Leona didn't know why, Sherlock and John kept saying they were going to this place called count, or something. Leona wanted to come, although she liked spending time with Ms. Hudson, she liked Sherlock much better. However, no matter how hard she begged — and cried — they wouldn't let her.

The first day, Ms. Hudson sat in front of the telly and watched it the whole day. She let Leona colour, but it for boring after a while. She wanted something bigger to colour on.

So, when Ms. Hudson wasn't looking, she went to Sherlock's room. Sherlock hadn't seemed happy in the past couple days, so maybe if she drew him a big picture in his room, he would be happy again!

Leona got to work, taking her crayons as she coloured all over the white walls.

It had taken Ms. Hudson about a half hour to realize that Leona was missing, but by the time she had found her, the damage was already done.

"No! Leona! My walls...!" Ms. Hudson cried, bringing Leona away from the ruined paint. Ms. Hudson took Leona's hands, bringing her away from the walls, "Oh, Leona... Come on, love, this way." She led the confused girl out of the room. "Look, Sherlock is on the telly!" She said, her tone chipper.

Leona stared, confused. "Who put Shee in telly?"

"Oh, he's not in the telly, dear, he's on the telly. He's at the Old Bailey right now, dear."

"Who Bailey?" Leona asked, confused.

"It's a place, dear. It's the court room they're in. Now, you can sit here and watch, I have to clean those walls," she said with a huffy sigh. Ms. Hudson pulled out Leona blanket and Leona giggled, sitting down. Her wings curled around her as she watched the television.

Sherlock was talking, but she didn't understand most of the things he said. Her eyes, though, were on the man in the booth. He was sitting silently, a smile on his face as he watched Sherlock talk. As if he were enjoying it.

Leona frowned, turning away. She didn't want to watch Mor-tary anymore. "... Have I known him?" Sherlock said on the television. "Not really your best line of enquiry. We met twice, five minutes in total. I pulled a gun; he tried to blow me up. I felt we had a special something." Mor-tary raised his eyebrows, amused. He was chewing something in his mouth, and blew a pink bubble from it.

"Oh, I'll have go get some cleaning solutions... Leona, stay here, I have to run off to the store. I'll be back in five minutes, alright?" Leona looked at Ms. Hudson, but she had already left.

"Miss Sorrel, are you seriously claiming this man is an expert, after knowing the accused for just five minutes?" The woman who wore the big black coat and sat in a highchair asked.

"Two minutes would have made me an expert. Five was ample," Sherlock replied with a shrug. Leona stood, going to the door.

"Ms. Hutson?" She called down the steps, but earned no reply. She said she was going to the store, whatever that was, but Leona didn't want to be alone. Besides, she needed someone to help her get Sherlock out of the telly!

She glanced back at the television set, almost apologetically, before carefully going down the steps. She finally made it to the front door. It was locked, but after a few moments of trying to open it, she finally managed to twist the lock at the top and pull the door open.

Someone was at the doorstep before she could even get through to Ms. Hudson. "Now, now, Leona. Didn't Ms. Hudson tell you to stay put?" Mycroft tsked, tapping her braided hair scoldingly. Another woman came behind her, closing the door and locking it again.

Leona giggled, "Mii-crof!" She cried, reaching her hands up for him to take. He did, and twisted her in the air. Leona giggled, her wings fluttering and even tickled his nose.

"You weren't lying, then..." The woman behind him spoke, almost in shock. Leona froze and immediately squirmed out of his hold. She landed on the ground and his behind Mycroft's leg.

"Leona, this is Verdana," Mycroft introduced. "Say hello."

"Hello..." She murmured. Leona recognized her smell. This was the woman that called her an it, and she didn't think she liked her.

"Come along, Leona," Mycroft said, heading for the stairs. "Let's go watch my idiot brother on the telly."

Mycroft sat in John's chair while Leona day on his lap. He was watching the television, but Leona was too busy playing with his hair. She was intrugied by it. Every time she picked it up, it fell back flat again.

Leona giggled, poking it, and tugging a little. She was about to lick it when Mycroft brought her away. "No licking, Leona," he scolded her, then set her on the floor.

The other woman, Verdana, had been staring at her the entire time. She looked weird to Leona, although she had seen a lot of weird looking people. She was completely white, like a sheet of paper, except for her lips, which was painted red.

"You know she'll have to go back, right?" The woman spoke, and Leona sat on the floor, watching the television begrudgingly. She wanted to sit on Mycroft's lap. "The School will never allow someone like your brother to keep her."

"I am well aware of her situation and until then she will be under my protection," Mycroft replied simply. Shelock wasn't on the television anymore, it was just someone else talking.

"The School holds more power than you think, Holmes," Verdana frowned. "They'll destroy an entire city and manage to cover it up."

"They do not hold that much power, not after the fall of Itex," Mycroft frowned. "And if there happened to be a situation like that, I'm sure I would know."

"There has," Verdana frowned. "Twice."

Mycroft inhaled, "Well, they will not be able to regain access to her." Verdana frowned too, but stopped talking.

By the time Ms. Hudson got back, Mycroft and Verdana had left. Leona was asleep on the ground, but woke up when the door opened. She was tense for a second, but Ms. Hudson poked her head through and she relaxed.

"Hello dear," Ms. Hudson smiled. "Did you do anything while I was gone?" Leona shook her head, tiredly. "Good. Do you want some lunch?" Leona shook her head again, then laid back on the floor and fell asleep.

Leona woke up when the door opened again. Ms. Hudson had moved her to the sofa and she had her blanket on top of her. Leona saw Sherlock's hair as the door opened and ran towards him. "Shee!" She screamed, jumping on his back as he opened the door.

Sherlock let out a shout of surprise and stumbled a little, trying to keep his balance. "Leona, what did I say about jumping on me, especially when my back is turned!" Sherlock scowled, prying the girl off his shoulders.

Leona giggled, "Leona saw Shee in telly! Did Shee escape?"

"No, don't worry love," John smiled behind him, ruffling her hair. "We were never in the telly to begin with."

"Where Shee, Jon go?" Leona asked, confused.

"To court."

"Court? One, two, four, six--"

"You're thinking of count, dear," John laughed, picking her up. Leona squealed, as he sat in his chair, Leona on his lap. "Court is a place where they decided to put bad guys away or not."

"Away where?"

"In prison," Sherlock said blandly, going to sit in his chair as well. "Which is where they belong and serve time for their crime."

"Pree... Sun?" Leona frowned.

"Yep," John nodded. "It's like a big building and they lock up bad guys."

"Like Leona cage?" Leona asked curiously.

"Leona cage?" John repeated, confused, and Leona nodded.

"At School. Leona has cage an' she live there. Unless Leona fight, or Whitecoat hurt Leona," she explained.

"They kept you... In a cage?" John repeated again, shocked.

"Leona no like cage... Cage dark an' scary... Erasers hurt Leona if she try to leave cage..." Leona frowned, looking at the ground.

"It's... Not a cage like that, dear, don't worry," John smiled, bring her close to his chest. Leona giggled, poking his cheek. "Where's Ms. Hudson, Leona?" She shrugged, and John let her off his lap. "Can you go fetch her for me?"

Leona nodded, grinning, "We go park?"

"Sorry, love, but not today, please, go fetch Ms. Hudson," John said, then shooed her off.

Ms. Hudson was on a milk run, and after looking up and down through the apartment, Leona unfortantely came to the conclusion that she was no where to be seen. She came teary-eyed to John, giving him the bad news. He simply laughed, and waved her to his room to take a nap. And while she did go to his room, she did not take a nap.

Leona's mind was too full of Mor-tary and the what he had given her. And although the physical scar was healed completely, Leona could feel his metal dark knife ebb into her skin. Blood poured out of the wound and unto the bed and she let out cry of terror. His laughter began to plague her mind. It came from everywhere, every dark corner of the room.

Tears began to spill down her cheeks. "What's my name?!" The man screamed in her ear, tugging on her hair and whipping her head back.

Leona blubbered a mixture of words, and he yanked on her head again. "Say it!"

"M–Mor–Mo–M..." She stammered between sobs. Mor-tary glared and struck her in the head. Leona gasped, her head hanging.

"Say my name," he growled, and Leona trembled.

"Pl–Please—!" she begged.

"Say it!!" His voice was akin to one of a demon's and Leona tried to move away from his wrath.

"Mo... Mo–Mor-ta... Mor-ta–ta... Mor-tary," she finally managed to say. "Mor-tary. Mor-tary, please." He chuckled and turned around.

Mor-tary held a gun now, and cocked it, pointing it at Leona's forehead. "No, no, no—" she begged. "Mor-tary! Mor-tary! Mo—" Leona didn't finish because he shot her.

John took Leona into his arms when she finally managed to wake up. "Shh... Shh. It was just a dream, dear. It's okay... It's over now..." Her lip quieted and Leona sobbed into his shoulder.

After she had finally stopped crying, John got her out of the bed and changed her clothes and the bed sheets. Then, he made her take a bath. Leona only nodded and didn't speak. He helped wash herself clean and then let her sleep with Sherlock, who complained at first, but begrudingly allowed it.

Leona curled against his chest, sniffing. "Go to sleep," Sherlock ordered, and Leona nodded. She liked being with him, He said he would protect her, and she believed him.


	11. Eleven

**Chapter Eleven:**

The next day, Leona stayed at the apartment again. She sat at Sherlock's feet on the sofa, eating plain pancakes. Sherlock was watching the television with intense precision, his eyes occasionally darting to Leona, as if checking she were still there.

Leona usually liked watching the telly, her attention span enamoured by the people, or cartoon characters darting around the screen. However, today, she did not like it. She wanted Sherlock to play with her, to talk to her, but all he wanted to do was watched the telly, like everyone else was, like Uncle Mycroft had. It annoyed her, but there was nothing she could do about it, but listen. Most of the things they said she hadn't understood anyway.

" _Ladies and gentlemen of the jury_ ," the woman in a black dress spoke coolly to the other people inside of the telly. Leona wondered how so many people got stuck in a tiny screen like theirs. It seemee impossible to her. " _James Moriarty stands accused of several counts of attempted burglary, crimes which - if he's found guilty - will elicit a very long custodial sentence; and yet his legal team has chosen to offer no evidence whatsoever to support their plea. I find myself in the unusual position of recommending a verdict wholeheartedly. You must find him guilty_." A murmuring went through the crowd inside the telly. They all were saying something along the lines of the same thing. A small group of people shuffled out of thr room, the people's word made their shoulders sag with the weight of their guilty.

"Guilty. You _must_ find him guilty."

The television was silent for several minutes, and even Leona felt the anxiety, although she was not physically in the room. She even felt Sherlock tense up as he watched the screen, which was probably the thing that scared her most. Sherlock, probably the bravest person she knew, was scared of a telly - although, it was what was on the telly that scared him.

But, as quickly as they left, the telly switched back over to the people who were slowly shuffling back in. The camera zoomed in on their sullen faces. " _Have you reached a verdict on which you all agree?"_ A man asked, once the people had all finally came in.

A woman stood, and said, "Not _guilty_." Immediately, everyone began talking, camera snapped pictures, people in a complete uproar.

Sherlock grabbed the remote and turned off the television. He stood just as his phone rang. Sherlock took it out, then, surprisingly, handed it to Leona. She grinned eagerly, although John frequently let her fiddle with his phone, she was never allowed to touch Sherlock's. She fiddled with it for a moment before figuring out how to answer it.

John's voice came through immediately. " _Not Guilty. They found him not guilty. No defence, and Moriarty's walked fre_ e," John began to talk faster, more panicked. " _Sherlock. Are you listening? He's out. You-You know he'll be coming after you. Sherlock."_

"Jon?" Leona said, the fear in his voice frightened her. "What mean Mor-Tary?"

" _Le-Leona?! Why... Nevermind, give the phone to Sherlock, I-"_ Sherlock gently clicked the phone off, taking it from her.

"Go to my room, and colour in there," Sherlock told her.

"What wrong? Why Jon say Mor-tary? Is-?"

" _Leona_ ," Sherlock was stern, but not angry. Leona frowned, scared, and Sherlock let out a soft sigh. "Go in my room. I'll call you out later. You may do whatever you want in there, but you have to stay there, alright?"

"Leona scared. Shee get hurt?"

"No, I won't. And neither will you if you listen." Leona nodded, then huggrd Sherlock tight around his waist.

"Don' get hurt. Leona no like Shee hurt," she told him, and he nodded, then shooed her off. Leona grabbed her crayons and papers, and left the room.

Leona sat on Sherlock's bed and closed the door silently. Then, she curled in the blankets. She heard someone enter the apartment and was tempted to come out, despite Sherlock's strict instructions. She didn't leave his room, although, she sat as close to the door as she could, hoping to get snippets of the conversation, but that was no use either.

Leona sighed, going back to the bed. The springs in the mattress beneath her was fun to play with, and made her giggle slightly. She liked how she could bounce as hard as she wanted on the bed. Leona even took out her wings - closing the curtains too of course - and began to jump on his bed, definitely ruining the neat covers.

Leona stopped jumping after about five minutes, and just sat down, resting. But she quickly changed activities and began to colour on the wood floor, making elaborate illustrations of her and John having fun in places like the park, or the big outside tubs Leona saw on the telly. She even made onr for the count too, but she didn't think they were as good as the others.

After nearly twenty minutes of silence and solidarity, Sherlock came to the door. Leona jumped up, excited and happy to see him. "Shee!" She cried, running over and wrapping her arms around him. She immediately sniffed him, checking for blood, then inspected his hands. After that, she climbed up his back, checked his face, to be sure.

"Leona what are you doing?" Sherlock demanded, a bit annoyed.

"Shee no hurt," she gave a sigh of relief. "Mor-tary here?"

"No, he left." Leona nodded, sighing again. She dropped from his back, and wrapped her arms around his hands. "Come along then, let's make lunch."

Two months has passed since Moriarty's trial, and there was no sign of danger. Sherlock and John were allowing Leona to leave the house more, so she was allowed to play in the park, chase after birds that were resting, and even climb trees. However, she was not allowed to show her wings. This rule upset Leona a little. She hadn't gone flying in _months_ and she missed it. Leona also hadn't seen a Whitecoat during this time either, but that was a good thing, she supposed.

Leona sat silently on the couch, practicing her words - she was getting pretty good at them. Sherlock was in the kitchen, stirring a strange liquid that was sizzling slightly. Leona looked up. "Shee?" Sherlock turned to her. "Leona thirsty." He nodded and grabbed a clean beaker, and filled it with water. He was about to hand it to her, but stopped short.

"You are _what_?"

"Thirsty," she repeated.

 _"I am_ thirsty," he corrected.

" _Leona am_ thirsty," Sherlock nodded, it was close enough, and gave her the water. She giggled, and began to drink.

"What do you say?"

"Thank you Shee." Satisfied, Sherlock turned back to his work. A few moments later, there was a knock on the door. Leona quickly put her wings away, as Sherlock moved to open it.

There was a man and a woman at the door, ones that Leona recognized. She didn't remember the man's name, but the woman's was stuck in her memory. Sally. She called herself Sally before she shot her. Well, shot _at_ her, since she missed.

Sally smiled at her, and she gave her a relucantant look. Leona got up, and ran over to Sherlock, hiding behind him. She frowned now, and gave a small glare to Sherlock, who promptly ignored it. The other man and Sherlock kept talking, and moved away from the door way. Sherlock motioned for her to go sit back down and do her letters, so she did.

Leona desperately wanted to take out her wings and hide herself in them, but decided that she might get in a lot of trouble if she did. So, she simply sat and continued to write, silently.

A few minutes after that, John arrived. Leona got up quickly, abandoning her letters again to jump at him and hug John around the neck. "Jon!" She cried, and John laughed.

"Hello, love," he chuckled. He looked around, finally noticing the others in the room. "What's going on?"

"Kidnapping," Sherlock said before going to his computer.

"Rufus Bruhl, the ambassador to the U.S," the old man explained easily.

"He's in Washington, isn't he?" John said, confused. Leona squirmed out from his grip and ran over to Sherlock, leaning over the arm of his chair to see what he was doing on the computer. Although she didn't understand the contents, she thoroughly enjoyed watching it, move, as if it were magic, and giggled when he clicked from page to page.

"Not him - his children, Max and Claudette, age seven and nine," Sally stepped forward, handing John a photograph. "They're at St Aldate's."

"Posh boarding place down in Surrey," Sally supplied, and the older man continued.

Leona was getting bored listening to the conversation. "Shee take Leona to park?" Leona asked curiously.

"If you speak five proper sentences tomorrow, then yes, for an hour," Sherlock promised and Leona beamed, excited. "But, only _after_ you finish your letters, and numbers too." Leona nodded, still excited, bouncing on the balls of her feet. "Go get your coat, we have to go out tonight."

Leona nodded again, and ran to the coatrack, grabbing her small coat that Mycroft brought her as a gift. It was beautiful and as brown as her skin. The inside was soft and kept her very warm, and she liked it. He even had the back of it changed so she could push her wings through if she needed too.

Leona giggled as she hopped down the steps, eager to leave.

Leona sat at the window, watching the scenery fly by her with admiration and awe. She had never been in this kind of car before, but she still loved it.

"Did you ever find her parents?" Sally asked, and Leona turned. She was obviously taking to John and Sherlock, but her question was about her, so she listened.

"No. There's no birth certificate either, which isn't much of a shocker," John explained.

"Then, where did she come from?" Sally asked.

"Leona from School," Leona said, wanting to contribute in the conversation about her. "Leona no mom and dad, only Whitecoats." John winced, bringing Leona to his lap.

"Whitecoat?" Sally rose an eyebrow, now actually looking at Leona. "What's that?"

"A scientist," John explained. "Or, that's what we think. She was experimented on, which caused the... You know."

"Wings?" John nodded. "I haven't seen them since we came, where _are_ they?"

"Hidden," John replied quickly. "Underneath her shirt. We... Didn't want anyone recognizing her and trying to take her away,"

"Who would do that? The scientists?"

"When did this become an interview?" Sherlock asked from the front passager's seat. He couldn't stand sitting with Sally, and - for once - she hadn't protested.

"They are simple questions, she's an interesting kid."

"You'll have to hold them until later," The old man spoke. "We're here."

John took Leona's hand, helping her out of the car, and Leona giggled eagerly. Leona watched curiously as a woman was crying softly, dabbing at her eyes with a white clothe. Sherlock began to talk, an angry countenance plastered on her face.

"Miss Mackenzie, you're in charge of pupil welfare, yet you left this place wide open last night," He glared at her. "What are you: an idiot, a drunk or a criminal?" Sherlock yanked the blankets from around her shoulders and get eyes widened with fear and terror. "Now quickly, tell me!"

"All the doors and windows were properly bolted," she blurted, the words spilling from her lips. "No one - not even _me_ \- went into their room last night. You have to believe me!"

Sherlock's angry face disappeared and he smiled gently at her. "I do. I just wanted you to speak quickly," he turned to call over his shoulder. "Miss Mackenzie will need to breathe into a bag now!"

John held Leona's hand as they followed the old man inside the big building, Sherlock standing beside them. John spoke quietly to Sherlock as they walked, "Six grand a _term_ ," he said, with a small whistle as they entered a room. "You'd expect them to keep the kids safe for you. You said the other kids had all left on their holidays?"

Sherlock hadn't said anything. He put on a pair of all too familiar blue latex gloves, and dropped to his knees as he inspected a bookcase. The room was a but large, and had strange fluffy objects near large trunks and small bookcases. There was a strange rug on the floor as well. It was very brightly coloured and had a few shapes on it. The windows were wide, but the curtains were drawn, letting little light inside.

"They were the only two sleeping on this floor," Lestrade said, watching him as he picked up a strange stick with a net at the end. "Absolutely no sign of a break-in. The intruder must have been hidden inside some place."

Sherlock went to a wooden trunk, looking at the strange books inside. Leona peered over at him, curious at the books as well. She had never seen books with such strange drawings on them. Leona assumed all the books were like Sherlock's back at 221B, thick and bland.

Sherlock glanced at a few, then closed the trunk, hiding the books away again. "Show me where the brother slept," He ordered. Lestrade turned, and they followed him down a hall shortly.

When they turned, Leona's nose irritated, a sharp, strange scent made her sniff. Then, she let out a short sneeze. "Bless you," John said, but she did it again. John chuckled, ruffling her hair, and she rubbed her nose, shifting her wings as she shuddered.

The strange scent is stronger as they entered the room, and Sherlock inspected this one as much as he did the other. Then, he began to speak, "The boy sleeps there every night, gazing at the only light source outside in the corridor," he began, glancing around the room, looking from the window to the bed. "He'd recognise every shape, every outline, the silhouette of everyone who came to the door."

"Okay, so...?" Lestrade said, waiting for him to finish. Leona sneezed again, and John blessed her.

"So someone approaches the door who he _doesn't_ recognise," Sherlock continued. "An _intruder_. Maybe he can even see the outline of a weapon." Sherlock left the room and stood outside the blurry window of the door to demonstrate. He two fingers and s thumb up to symbolise a gun, then came back into the room. "What would he do in the precious few seconds before they came into the room? How would he use them if not to cry out?"

Leona sneezed again, her eyes watering. "This little boy; this particular little boy... who reads all of those spy books. What would he do?" He picked up a few objects that had been strewn about, then, he held one to Leona. "Sniff this." It was a small flurry object that she didn't recognize. She did, then had to turn away, sneezing again, and wiping her nose.

"Why is she sneezing? Is she allergic to something?" The old man asked.

"No, her nose is just extremely sensitive," Sherlock said. Then, looked underneath the bed, and picked up a half empty bottle. "Get Anderson."

Leona was given strange mask to wear over her mouth and nose as she stood silently in the room, as people came and left. The mask helped her breathe easier, and stopped her sneezing.

Then, a tall man came in and Leona saw Sherlock tense, and his eyes narrow. He didn't seem to like this man at all. Sherlock had had the same reaction when Sally entered a room.

The windows were closed with wooden shutters and the lights turned off. Then, Sherlock turned a blue light at the wall, and two words Leona had to sound out quietly to herself in order to understand. "H... He... Hel... Help... Uh... Ss... Uh-s. Help us." John turned, having heard her read the words, and smiled, giving her a small nod, and she beamed.

"Linseed oil," Sherlock said, and the tall man scoffed.

"Not much use," he said. "Doesn't lead us to the kidnapper."

"Brilliant, Anderson," Sherlock said, and the man, Anderson, looked a bit surprised.

"Really?"

"Yes. Brilliant impression of an _idiot_." Anderson narrowed his eyes, angered. "The floor," Sherlock said, turning his blue light down. There were big blue yellow footprints on the wooden floor, along with slightly smaller ones beside them. A few looked ragged, as if they has been dragged against the floor. It led all the way into the hall, which explained Leona's sneezing.

"He made a trail for us!" John said, surprised.

"The boy was made to walk ahead of them," Sherlock said, watching the footprints and walking slowly.

"On what, tiptoe?" John asked, looking at how irregularly shaped they were.

"Indicates anxiety; a gun held to his head," Sherlock's eyes flitted to the side, were the footprints looked jagged, almost. "The girl was pulled beside him, dragged sideways. He had his left arm cradled about her neck."

Sherlock and John walked a few steps more, then stopped when the footprints did. Leona and Anderson were behind them, Leona curious and Anderson smug. "That's the end of it," Anderson said, arms crossed over his chest as if he had just won an argument. "We don't know _where_ they went from here. Tells is nothing after all."

"You're right, Anderson, nothing," Sherlock agreed, then drew in a deep breath. " _Except_ his shoe size, his height, his gait, his walking pace."

Sherlock began to get to work, taking down a few of the black long papers covering the windows, and chuckling softly to himself. John bent down to whisper something to him, and he stopped smiling. Leona watched carefully as the others walked about to, measuring the footprints and taking pictures. Leona stood near the side, silently, waiting until the two decided of was time to go home.

The tall man, Anderson was talking to someone, then sent them on their way. He glanced around a bit before his eyes fell on hers. Leona blinked, but he rose an eyebrow. "Why is this kid here?" He asked, and John looked up.

"That's my neice. We couldn't get a sitter," He lied near automatically.

"Well, she can't be in here. She'll have to wait outside," Anderson said matter-of-factly, then gave John a look, as if he were dumb.

"Outside?" Leona repeated, confused. She never had to wait outside usually. Sherlock and John were always alright if she simply stayed quiet and didn't touch anything, which she did. Had she done something wrong?

"Yes, outside. This is a crime scene and we can't have children in the way," He made a swatting motion with his hands, as if he were trying to kill a pesky fly.

"She isn't bothering anyone by simply standing there, leave her be," Sherlock said, not looking up from his work.

"I don't care, I want her gone."

"Leona can help," Leona said, and he turned to her, an eyebrow raised.

"' _Leona can help_ '? Why is she _talking_ in third person?"

"That's... Just how she talks," John said. "Leona, love, could you please wait over there?" Leona nodded, being especially careful not to step on any of the glowing footprints she saw earlier. With the daylight now shining in the room, it made them harder to spot. Luckily, she could still smell them a little, and was able to steer around it.

Leona glanced down the hall, where the older man was on the cellphone. He glamced over at her, and smiled, then went back to his call.

Leona sat down, tapping on her knees. She wanted to help, but the tall man wouldn't let her. Leona sighed, she didn't quite know what was going on, anyway. She knew the children in that room were gone - their scent was recent, but began to fade, and it was a strange one at that.

Leona sighed, wishing she brought paper and crayons. Or, her letters so she could at least study. Then, maybe John would get her a book, like the colourful ones she saw in the trunk.

Leona sighed, drawing her knees to her chest, and watched as the old man turned off his phone and walked over, smiling. "Hi, Leona."

Leona was hesitant for a moment, she remembered the look of shock he gave her when he saw her wings for the first time. Would he be like Sally, who she thought was nice like Ms. Hudson? Would he try to shoot her?

Leona decided to stay wary, her knees drawn in case she had to run. "Hello..." She murmured.

"What are you doing over here?" He asked curiously.

"Jon ask Leona stay here 'cause Mister Tall Man upset," Leona explained.

"'Mister Tall Man'?" Leona nodded, then turned to the hall, where Anderson was, ordering an intern to do something. She looked a bit flustered, but nodded fervently. "Anderson," the old man chuckled, amused.

" _And-dear-sun_?" Leona repeated, sounding out the name slowly. It was strange, but she tried it again. "And... Erson. Anderson?"

"Yep," The old man grinned. "Anderson. I'm Lestrade, by the way. Greg Lestrade."

"Les... Les... Tra? Lesra?"

"And you're Leona," Lestrade said with a smirk.

Leona grinned, she knew her name, "Leona!"

"It's nice to properly meet you, Leona," Lestrade held his hand out for her. Leona stared at it, then, slowly took his finger, gently shaking it, and the dropped her hand as if she were just burned.

Lestrade grinned, and John and Sherlock came out of the hall. "Greg, could you do us a favour and bring her back to the station when you leave?" John asked, "Sherlock and I are going down to Bart's hospital, and... Well, it's very likely that she wouldn't do well in that sort of environment." Leona looked at him oddly, she didn't know what a hospital was.

"Yes, of course. What time will you be back?" Lestrade asked.

John shrugged, "Hour, maybe two." Lestrade nodded, and John gave him a grateful smile. "Thank you."

"My pleasure," He shrugged, and Sherlock and John hurried off.

The drive back to the station was quiet. Lestrade and Sally spoke and Leona stared out the window, her face pressed against the glass, giggling softly to herself. Finally, Sally turned and asked her, "What are you laughing about?" Her tone was teasing and light. For a moment, Leona forgot she was in a car with strangers.

"People! People look funny!" Leona giggled, causing the two adults to chuckle as well.

"How so?" Sally asked.

"People wear lots of colours! Leona no see lot of colours! Lots of colours pretty!"

Sally was still smiling as she ssked Leona, "Why don't you see lots of colours?"

"Whitecoats no like lots of colours," Leona told them, a bit more quietly. "Whitecoats like white, black, grey. Leona never see so many colours until Leona see people."

Sally gave Lestrade a look, but he shrugged and shook his head, there wasn't much he could do about it.

Leona was silent all the way to the Yard. Then, Lestrade helped her out of the car, and held her hand gently as he led her inside.

Leona stayed very close to Greg as they entered, shocked by all of the people. They were either walking around in the same coloured outfits, or sitting at a desk typing. A few were younger than the adults with angry expressions their face. A few men and women looked up when Greg entered and smiled.

"Hey, Greg," A few greeted, exchanging handshakes and a few words. Leona stayed behind Greg, trying carefully to be as small as possible. A few spotted her and her shyness, but didn't say anything on it.

Finally, they made it to a very cluttered office. Greg pulled up a chair for her to sit, and then sat at his desk. "What would you like to do?" Greg asked curiously. "There isn't a lot of games here, but I'm sure we can find few books to read. Then again, those probably won't be very interesting either." He chuckled and Leona glanced around, thinking.

"Can... Leona colour?" Leona asked curiously, and Greg nodded. He pulled out a few sheets of paper and a pencil, since he said he didn't have crayons. Leona was fine, and scribbled all over the paper. She lied on her stomach, drawing against the hard floor silently. For nearly ten minutes, she and Greg were quiet, until a short beeping caught her ears, and paper was expended from the printer. The words were in all caps, and bolded.

Leona picked it up and looked at it. "Hu... Hurr... Y... Hurr-why... U-Up... Th... The... They-ere... D... Why... Ing. Hurr-why up, they-see d-why-ing," Lestrade looked up from his desk.

"What are you reading?" He asked, and Leona showed him the paper. His eyes darkened immediately as they roamed the page. His brow furrowing, and he called Sally into his office. He showed the paper to her and she sighed.

"It's about the kids," she sighed.

"We wait until Sherlock gets back," Greg said. "He'll have some information for us." 


	12. Twelve

_**"Did you miss me?" - Jim Mortiarty**_

 **C** **hapter Twelve:**

Lestrade let Leona play in his chair when Sherlock and John came back. For once, she was too fascinated by the swivel chair to jump on John as a greeting.

When he did enter the office to pick up Leona, she was giggling madly, spinning in the chair as fast as she could make it. And, considering that she had the ability to move things with her mind, she used that to the best advantage in this chair, making it turn at what seemed like lightspeed.

"Leona?" John said, interrupting her fun. Leona stopped and giggled. She jumped out of the chair and tried to walk towards him. However, she was extremely dizzy and only managed to bump into Lestrade's table, trip over ger own feet, and land on the floor.

"Are you alright?" John asked, coming around the desk. Leona was still giggling, but she seemed to quiet down now.

"Leona... Spin... Lesta fun!" She murmured barely able to see straight.

John laughed and helped the girl up. He kept her close to his side and steadied her as she fought to regain balance.

"Come on," he said, "Sherlock's downstairs."

"Shee!" Leona cheered, moving to run towards him, but John stopped her.

"Ah! Ah! Ah!" John said. Those three words always made Leona stop dead in her tracks and she turned, waiting for orders. "Now, when we get downstairs, you _cannot_ jump on Sherlock, and you _cannot_ take out your wings, alright?" Leona nodded. "I need you to promise, Leona."

"Leona promise. John, Leona pinkie promise?" John smiled and held out a fat pinkie and Leona couldn't help a giggle. She took his pinkie in her entire tiny fist and she shook his pinkie.

"Pinkie promise," John promised. Leona grinned and John led her by the hand out of the office.

When John and Leona came downstairs to Sherlock, Leona had to try very hard not to run over to Sherlock and hug him. But, she pinkie promised John she wouldn't, so she smiled at Sherlock, bouncing on the tips of her toes.

"John," Sherlock said, not looking at her. He showed a picture on his phone. Leona reached up to take it, but Sherlock held it higher. "Rhododendron ponticum. It matches." Sherlock turned away to think and Leona watched him. She liked watching him think, it interested her. He always held his head or moved his hands around, as if he were seeing a big picture and trying to fix it.

Finally, he looked up, "Addlestone."

"What?" Lestrade asked, eyebrows furrowed.

"There's a mile of disused factories between the river and the park," Sherlock explained and then stood up, grabbing his coat. "It matches everything." Sherlock took Leona's hand and hurried out of the office, John following close behind.

Leona sat silently as they sped down the street. They pulled up to a long strip of old factories. Sherlock and John moved to get out, but John stopped her. "Stay here. It's too dangerous," he warned her, then closed the door.

Leona stared out the window, sadly, but John did not come back for her. She say back against the seat, watching all the police officers running towards the buildings. She could hear Sally shouting orders to them too, " _You, look over there. Look everywhere. Okay, spread out, please. Spread out_."

Leona wanted to help, she knew she could. If she knew how they smelled, she could find them. But John said to stay in the car, so Leona had to stay.

Everything was quiet for ten or so minutes, and only filled with the distant sound of shouting. Leona sighed, laying in the seat. She was _bored_. Maybe she could just go inside a little...? Then, she'd come back and... _No_. John would be really upset if she did that.

Leona curled up on the seat, when she heard a short tapping on the glass of the window. Leona looked up and when she saw who was around the car, she gasped, scrambling to sit up.

Erasers surrounded the car, growling threateningly, all with guns surrounding her or claws outstretched. "Don' 'ake a scene, a'right?" A female eraser said calmly, but her voice was wrapped in danger. Leona looked around, eyes wide as she looked for a place to escape. "Ya git five seconds. Else we comin' _in_."

Leona tried to breathe, and closed her eyes. She went to the door slowly, and a few Erasers moved, allowing her to come out. They slammed the door shut and one pushed her down. Leona let out a gasp, her palms scrapping the ground as she fell. The female Eraser yanked her up by her braids, sneering. "Ya gon' soft, 'aven't ya, 54?" She slammed her face back down. Leona's chin hit the pavement, and bit her tongue. Blood welled in her mouth and she hissed, spitting it out.

"Let's go," the female Eraser ordered and then they ran, dragging Leona with them.

John didn't even realize that Leona had been gone until long after they came home. After they found the two kids in the factory, Sherlock and John were in a rush to get there. Then, the whole scene at the hospital involving the girl, Claudette, and John's confusion around it too. His questions concerning why the girl had been so terrified of John, and then Sherlock taking thr taxi alone and the Albanian gangster getting shot in the street... John was bombarded with questions that he needed answering.

Finally, when they were at home, John when to his room, and things had quieted down, John realized his mistake. He ran into the sitting room where Sherlock had been sitting quietly, hands folded as he usually did when he was deep in thought. " _Leona_!" He gasped and Sherlock looked up immediately. It seemed that he too had forgotten.

"Wasn't she with _you_?" Sherlock asked.

"No! She..." John ran his hands through his hair, stressfully. "We brought her with us to Addlestone. I told her to wait in the car. She must've came out to find us," John pulled out his phone so he could call Lestrade.

Greg answered on the first ring. " _This better be important,_ " he half-hissed. John could hear Sally shouting out orders in the background.

"Leona is missing," John told him. "All afternoon, we just realized. I know you've got people on there way, but do you think you could send someone back to Addlestone to see?"

Greg was silent, then he let out a sigh, shaking his head. " _Alright, I will. And, I'll file a missing-person's report for you_."

"Thank you," John said, closing his eyes.

" _Don't mention it_." Then, he hung up.

"What did he say?" Sherlock asked.

"He said he'd send someone out to look for her." Sherlock nodded, and going back to think again. "Where do you think she is?" John asked curiously, trying not to worry. The last time Leona went missing, she came back with a concussion and stab wounds.

"Probably wandering about Addlestone," Sherlock said. "She's probably scared silly, but she'll get over it. Besides, she knew not to get out of the car, you _told_ her so."

"She usually listens to whatever I tell her to do," he sighed, shaking his head.

"She'll be back. We have more pressing matters to deal with at the moment." And, it was true. Sherlock could hear the police sirens faintly coming their way as he spoke.

Ice cold pressurized water was sprayed at Leona's bare body. She cried out, trying to use her wings to block the water, but the Eraser behind her hit the back of her legs with a metal rod, and she fell to her knees in pain. The water came more forcefully at her face, her back, and her wings. They made her skin feel raw, and yet she knew this was only the beginning.

Whitecoats came out of the side doors, completely suited and carrying large poles with large, soapy steel wool pads at the end. The Eraser behind Leona kept hitting her wings in order to keep her down and the Whitecoats got to work.

They scrubbed at her with the poles and Leona screamed. It felt like they were trying to take her skin off her back completely. Leona tried to get up and run, but the Eraser kept her from moving at all. Leona turned away, her fists clenched. She heard the poles of metal clench and strain.

The Eraser pulled away and the two Whitecoats advanced. They pointed the butt of their poles out at her and stuck her with it. Electricty heightened by the soapy water made her convulse on the ground like a dying worm. Tears threatened her eyes and black spots danced across her vision.

Leona groaned and twitched for a few more minutes, unmoving as the Whitecoats finished deep cleaning her. They walked out of the room, leaving the Eraser as the water sprayed even harder overhead, rinsing her clean.

"Git up," the Eraser growled once the water finished. Leona whimpered, unmoving. The Eraser kicked her in the side and Leona gasped, trembling. She coughed, spitting up soapy water that had entered her lungs.

Slowly, she stood. Her arms crossed over her chest and she shivered. The Eraser forced her into the next room, which was alternatively steaming hot. There were a set of clothes sitting on the floor. It was undergarments and a strange white-and-blue checkered flimsy dress.

Leona frowned. At her School, they never let them wear anything like this. Only old rags and never anything like underwear.

Panic slowly began to set it. If she wasn't in her old School... Then where was she?

The Eraser hit his rod at her upper arm and Leona hissed, rubbing the area. "Hurr' up," he warned. Leona glared at him, but quickly slipped the clothes on.

He led her to a different room, one she was far too familiar with at this point. Cages littered the floor, each carrying different experiments. Some were not breathing, but others weren't so lucky. They moaned at her, some of them hissed. One child with the malformed body of a bull rammed its face into the metal rods, tongue outstretched and eyes pure black.

Leona was given the empty cage right next to the bull child. Leona hissed and clawed at the Eraser, but he pulled out his gun, pointing it at her forehead. Leona stopped immediately and sat down, carefully and angrily eying the armed Eraser. He smirked at his power and slammed the cage door shut.

Leona sat back, trying to calm her breathing. This couldn't be real, she wasn't _actually_ back. Sherlock would come get her soon and she would go home. Everything would be _fine_.

The bull boy rammed his face against Leona's cage again, teeth bared and he growled at her.

Leona hissed, eyes flashing and the boy was sent back, and held against the side of the cage. He began to shake, and sputtering from not being able to breathe.

Leona realized this and stopped. The boy fell to his side, unconcious. Leona stared at him, "Leona is sorry," she whispered, trying to come to the boy. His eyes fluttered back open and when he saw her, he squealed in terror, moving away. "Leona is _sorry_!" She said again, tears growing in her eyes.

The boy didn't listen, and he didn't ram her cage again. Leona curled up in her cage, tucking her head between her knees and she cried.

An hour or so passed before Leona heard the sound of loud doors creaking open. Everyone else did too, and went silent. Three pairs of footsteps came down, one heavier than the rest - probably an Eraser - but the other two she didn't recognize.

Leona sat back in her cage as the footsteps got closer and closer to her. She could feel the heightened sense of fear from everyone. Nobody wanted to be chosen. Leona knew that three people either meant execution for whoever was chosen, or you were being sold away.

If Leona was sold away, she'd _never_ be able to go home again.

The footsteps stopped and Leona's heart was pounding. She didn't know who they stopped in front of. Then, a cage door swung open and the Eraser bent down. "Out. Now," he growled. Leona looked up. It wasn't at her, but at two cages down from her. She didn't know who it was, but she could see spots on their skin.

They hissed and the Eraser tried to grab at them, but they batted his arm away. Claws outstretched from their hand and they scratched him. Leona watched, shocked. Fighting an Eraser, unless told to, was a death sentence in itself.

The Eraser bent down and growled at them, but they did not budge. Then, he reached in and grabbed their leg. They screamed, trying to kick at him, but the Eraser dragged them out already.

Leona was big puffy hair and a long spotted tail that matched her skin. She wore the same checkered gown Leona did, but hers was dirtier. The Eraser pinned her to the floor, then injected something into her neck. The girl's movements began to slow down before she fell limp, unconcious.

"Hmm... You'll have to pull its nails before it comes home with me," a voice said. Leona frowned, she knew that voice.

"Yes, that can be arranged. It would cost extra, however." The Whitecoat told him. The Eraser dragged the girl behind him as they walked slowly.

"That would be fine," He replied. Leona's breathing got heavier as they began to walk again. She knew that voice. She _knew_ it. "And the other one?"

"Right here," the Whitecoat said, stopping again. They stopped in front of her cage.

Leona's eyes widened and she tried to move away, but the limitations of the cage stopped her. "This one, I must warn you, is a bit more dangerous than the others. It's best to keep it subdued all the time for your safety."

"I'll keep that in mind," he said. Then, the Eraser opened the cage.

"Out," he growled but Leona was not moving at all. " _Git. Out_ ," he said again,but still, Leona stayed put.

He reached in and grabbed her foot. Leona screamed, her eyes glowing and she twisted his hand. The Eraser roared in pain, eyes full of fury. He shook his hand out, then used both hands to yank her our completely.

Leona fought hard, trying to push him back and breaking several bones, but the Eraser continued to yank her out of the cage, not caring for his own physical safety.

Finally, Leona was out and the Eraser slammed the cage shut. He was ready to inject her, but the other man stopped him. "Let me see it," he said and the Eraser stopped moving, but kept her pinned to the floor.

Leona's eyes were full of panic but then dread and fear overtook it. Mortiarty smiled down at her, teeth exposed. "Lovely seeing you again, dear," he told her. "Aren't we going to have fun..." Leona screamed, but the Eraser inject the shot in the small of her neck. Leona gasped, trying to struggle. To go back in her cage, to do anything but this, but she couldn't and was slowly consumed by darkness.


	13. Thirteen

**_"Everyone dies. All hearts are broken. Caring is not an advantage."_** ** _-_** **_Mycroft Holmes_**

 **Chapter Thirteen:**

"Don't you love this movie?" Mortiarty purred in the woman's ear.

She let out a high giggle. "Stop teasing me! You know I love this movie! It's my favourite!"

"You know you're my favourite," he whispered softly to her. The woman giggled again and Leona had to make an effort not to vomit.

Leona knew that if she called out, or screamed, or anything along those lines, Mortiarty would kill her. At this point, Leona wanted to just so that he would. She was tired and sick of watching his life through the shutters of a closet. Her heart had been beating fast enough to make her chest hurt for hours. Every time Mortiarty walked past the closet she was in, she'd stiffen and wanted to vomit.

"Mm... I think the food should be ready," the woman finally says. "I should go pick it up."

Mortiarty gives a small huff, a bit upset, but disgustingly understanding. He sounded human - almost _nice_. "I'll be back in ten minutes," she promised, and they made another sucking noise, before Leona heard her slowly walking away.

When the door shut, Leona heard Mortiarty stand. She began to tremble as he came to her and slowly opened the closet door. "How's my little pet doing?" Mortiarty smiled up at her coldly. "I hope you're hanging in there!" Leona bit her lip and closed her eyes. Mortiarty had chained her arms to the top of the closet, making her hang several feet above the ground for hours. At this point, Leona couldn't feel her wrists, or anything in her upper body.

Leona wiggled her legs, hoping to kick him in the face, but he had kept her from doing that too - her legs were ducktaped together. Even if she could escape, she couldn't walk.

"Now, I know you're probably hungry, so I brought you a little treat!" He turned and left for a few minutes before returning later. He held a big bag of... Black small pebbles? He scooped a hand in and held it out to her. Leona blinked at him, confused. "Go ahead, eat." Leona shook her head - which, coincidentally, made her entire body shake - and she hit his outstretched hand, spilling the little pebbles everywhere.

Suddenly, Mortiarty was angry. He didn't like that she wasn't playing his game. He pulled a knife out and slowly - painfully, dragged it down her hanging calf. Leona howled in pain, but due to the ducktape piled on her mouth, all she could make was strange hissing noises. She kept wiggling and trying to move, but Mortiarty wasn't moving.

Finally, after his third cut, he cleaned the knife off on her small paper-thin dress she still wore, and then closed the door.

Leona moaned, tears escaping her eyes. She wanted to go _home_.

Leona's eyes were half-rimmed and she was nearly asleep when she heard a strange familiar voice.

"... The scoop that everybody wanted and you got it. Bravo!" Leona blinked, confused for a minute as she continued to listen.

"I gave you your opportunity," the same won an from earlier said. "I wanted to be on your side, remember? You turned me down, so..."

"And then, behold, someone turns up and spills all the beans," they continued. "How _utterly_ convenient. Who is Brook?" There was a short pause and the man scoffed. "Oh, come on, Kitty. No-one trusts the voice at the end of a telephone." Again, nothing and Leona heard short footsteps in the same quick rhythm.

"There are all those furtive little meetings in cafés," he continued. "Those sessions in the hotel room where he gabbled into your dictaphone. How do you know that you can trust him? A man turns up with the Holy Grail in his pockets?" Suddenly his voice is serious, "What were his credentials?" The man demanded and in that moment, Leona recognized and gasped.

Leona as about to scream so that Sherlock could hear her, but as soon as she got herswlf ready for it, she heard a voice that made her stop as quickly as she wanted to start. "Darling, they didn't have any ground coffee so I just got normal..." Leona was still and quiet, but every inch of her being wanted to scream. Her lips trembled and tears welled up in get eyes. "You said that they wouldn't find me here. You said that I'd be safe here." Suddenly, Mortiarty sounded as scared as Leona was.

"You _are_ safe, Richard," the woman, who Sherlock called, ' _Kitty_ ', said. "I'm a witness. He wouldn't harm you in front of witnesses."

"So _that's_ your source?" A sob choked Leona's throat as soon as she heard John's voice. "Moriarty is Richard _Brook_?!"

"Of _course_ he's Richard Brook," Kitty scoffed. "There _is_ no Moriarty. There never _has_ been."

"What are you talking about?" John demanded, now confused. Leona wiggled a little, making the clothes in the closet shift.

"Look him up. Rich Brook - an actor Sherlock Holmes hired to be Moriarty," Kitty accused with a hiss.

There was a pause, before Mortiarty began talking again. "Doctor Watson, I know you're a good man." Suddenly, Mortiarty back into the side of the room, and Leona could see him just through the shutters over the door. He glanced at her and Leona sat his eyes narrow. She made a small whimper, but otherwise stayed silent.

"Don't... Don't hu... Don't hurt me!" Mortiarty cried pathetically.

"No, you _are_ Mortiarty!" John snapped, his voice outraged. "He _is_ Mortiarty! Don't you _remember_? You were going to _blow me up_!"

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry," Mortiarty gasped, "He paid me. I needed the work. I'm an actor. I was out of work. I'm sorry, okay?"

Leona heard John breathing heavily, then he spoke to Sherlock, who had been silent this whole time. "Sherlock, you'd better... Explain... Because I am not getting this."

"Oh _I'll_ ... I'll be doing the explaining - in print," Kitty said, snobbishly. "It's all here - conclusive proof." John was silent, so Kitty continued, "You invented James Moriarty, your nemesis."

"' _Invented him_ '?" John repeated slowly.

"Mmm-hmm," Kitty affirmed. "Invented all the _crimes_ , actually - and to cap it all, you made up a master villain."

"Oh, don't be ridiculous!" John scoffed.

" _Ask_ him," Kitty demanded. "He's right here! Just ask him. Tell him, Richard."

"Look, for God's sake," John huffed furiously, "This man was on _trial_!"

"Yes," Kitty drawled. "... And you paid him; paid him to take the rap. Promised you'd rig the jury. Not exactly a West End role, but I'll bet the money was good." Kitty walked over to Mortiarty now and Leona could see her. If she just turned her head, she'd be able to see her and Leona could go back to Sherlock and John. "But not so good he didn't want to sell his story,"

"I _am_ sorry," Mortiarty begged. "I _am_. I _am_ sorry,"

"So-So this is the story that you're gonna publish," John demanded incredulously. "The big conclusion of it all: Moriarty's an actor?!"

"He _knows_ I am," Mortiarty argued. "I have proof. I have proof. Show him, Kitty! Show him something!"

"Yeah, show me something!" John snapped. Kitty left Mortiarty's side without looking at her. Leona squirmed in the closet, breathing heavily. She wanted to go back to Sherlock. It was getting hot in here and she could hardly breathe. She wanted to go to Sherlock!

Tears slipped past her face and Mortiarty turned to her. He stared straight into her eyes and Leona sniffed, the danger in his eyes made her entire body go rigid with fear. He was going to kill her. She was going to die.

"I'm on TV," he said, dear returning in his voice. "I'm on kids' TV. I'm _The Storyteller_. I'm ... I'm _The Storyteller_. It's on DVD. Just tell him. It's all coming out now. It's all over," Mortiarty becomes frantic and begins to yell. Leona wanted to cover her ears. He had no right to scream right now, he wasn't the one hanging for his life. "Just tell them. Just tell them. _Tell them_! It's all over now," Leona heard heavy footsteps and they were coming her way. She saw Sherlock. "NO!"

Mortiarty glanced at her, making brief eye contact before turning to run the opposite direction from her. Leona made a noise of pain, trying desperately to get out. Everyone followed him. Nobody came for her. They were talking, but Leona didn't care to listen to them.

A minute later, they are coming back down the steps and to her. Leona, for all her might, tried to make noise. She cried out and rattled the other coats, but nobody turned to her. Leona couldn't breathe. They had to see her. They _had_ to.

" _Mhee_!" Leona cried out Sherlock's name, but it was muddled behind the tape and he didn't hear her. He was angry and was talking to John. " _Mhee_!" She tried again, but he didn't so much as turn to her. Leona sobbed, " _Mhee_... _No_..." She murmured, but it was too late. Her chance was gone as John and Sherlock closed the door behind them.

Leona felt so exhausted. She tried desperately to get her arms down. She couldn't even feel her upper body at this point. She felt so light-headed and cold. When Mortiarty cut her, the blood just dripped out, but it hasn't stopped dripping now. It should have closed.

Leona glanced up, looking at the screws that held the panel up. She frowned and then slowly made them turn, and they did. One by one, they popped out, until Leona was haphazardly dangling several feet off the ground. Her weight broke it and Leona fell with a heavy thump. Her ankle twisted and she cried out in pain, trembling.

Leona was silent, but she heard light footsteps coming. She panicked and burrowed into the coats, hoping the woman wouldn't see her.

Kitty opened the door and looked inside, an unpleasant frown on her face. When she was dissatisfied with what she saw, she closed the door again.

Leona laid on the floor for a long time. Slowly, the feeling went back into her hands and she could move them.

Leona didn't want to leave, not at first. She didn't know if Mortiarty had returned. She didn't even know how _to_ leave.

Leona needed a plan. She needed a window. Mortiarty when upstairs to escape, maybe there's an open window up there, somewhere.

But, how would she do it? Leona would have to be seriously quiet. If this woman heard her, and Mortiarty knew she escaped, he would kill her.

Leona focused on her feet, managing to slowly peel off the tape until her fingers were sticky with adhesive, but her feet were free. Her wrists were still tied with harsh rope in a complex knot so Leona had no chance of undoing it.

Leona breathed, before slowly, quietly, moving the door opened. After she confirmed that nobody was there, she herself got up. Her ankle hurt whenever she walked, so, Leona tried to tread lightly.

The blood on the ground made the floor slippery - Leona was surprised Kitty didn't notice.

When Leona was in the hallway, she breathed. Now, she had to get to the stairs. Leona tiptoed, and waited for a minute while she was around the corner. "Hey, Rich, it's me," Leona stiffened, nearly falling to the floor. Mortiarty was here!? "Look, they're gone now, so you can come back here anytime. Give me a call back when you get this. Bye." Leona exhaled, she was on the phone.

Leona heard footsteps, and they were coming her away. Her heart skipped a beat and she jumped, using her abilities to give her a boost as she hung from one of the light fixtures. She tried to keep her body level, like how they taught her at the school whenever she fought. She was a rod. She was a rod.

Kitty glanced down, noticing small footprints and a puddle of what she suspected was faux blood. That must have been what fell. "Oh, did I step in it!" She comolained to herself checking her feet.

Leona felt herself slipping she couldn't keep this up long. She turned to the kitchen. There was a huge dark bottle on the counter. She flicked her head and it tipped over before falling to the ground. Glass sprayed everywhere and so did a liquid Leona couldn't recognize. It wss very strong and it made her head light.

Kitty ran back into the kitchen, "No! Damn it!" She cried, going to get a broom. Leona finally fell to the ground, breathing heavily. She was never doing that again. She felt mentally and physically exhausted. But, she bought herself a distraction.

Leona got up and glanced around the corner. Kitty was sweeping the glass up, her back was to Leona. Leona limped as fast as she could, and in the process, missed a rather huge shard of glass that went straight into her foot.

Leona's eyes buldged, but she kept going until she was safely around the corner. She sat down, breathing heavily as she slowly took the glass out of her foot. There was a lot of blood but Leona dismissed it. She had to get upstairs. There was a window upstairs. Leona slowly made it up the steps, looking for anything that could resemble a window. Immediately, she saw it. The bathroom had a window leading outside.

Leona ran for it, taking a few seconds to figure out the mechanics of the window, before sliding it open and jumping out.

Leona did not expect the fall. When she hit the dumpster and then slid off onto the ground, Leona groaned in pain, but closed her eyes to ignore it. Her wings were still taped and Leona had to get out. The rope on her wrists were knotted too tight for even her teeth to go through. She needed a knife.

Leona stood up shakily. Her bare feet splashing in dirt-ridden puddles. Every step was a nightmare, but every breathe tasted like freedom.

"Should I send it out?" A man whispered into a communication device.

" _Ehh... Give her five more minutes. I want to see them run_." His boss said with a laid back voice. However, to believe that James Mortiarty was a laid-back man would be a fatal mistake. He was a bloodthirsty psychopath that burned every obstacle in his path. To work with him was to walk an all-too-thin tightrope, where the rope was wobbly and thinning by the moment.

The man waited five minutes like his boss ordered, and then picked up the remote again. "Now?"

"... _Yes_ ," Mortiarty replied simply. He turned to the cage beside him, were a small girl with the skin of a leopard was curled up. She even had the ears and matching tail of said animal. Looking at her - was she even considered human at this point, he wondered.

Looking at it was like seeing a rare crossbreed of an exotic animal. It thrilled him, and he wanted to see what it was capable of.

Now, he had his chance to.

"Get up," he said, his voice gruff and coarse around the edges due to decades of ill-controlled tobacco smoking. The animal - the _thing_ \- responded immediately, standing as tall as it could. "Boss has a job for you. You catch that girl with wings, and he'll let you go. Bring her back here."

The creature blinked at him, confused and it didn't say a word. He rolled his eyes, annoyed with it lack of intelligence. "Got it!?" He snapped, kicking the small cage. It nodded and moved towards the door.

He bent down and clicked the lock, opening the cage. The animal stepped out, stretching its arms. "Go!" He snapped at it, annoyed.

It looked at him, and blinked. With the freedom of its cage, and the man having no significant hold over it anymore, then it did not have to listen to him.

"What are you waiting for, you dumb animal!?" He snapped, raising his arm. "Go!" His arm came down, but it stopped it. The animal looked at the arm, then back at him  
Slowly, claws extended from its fingers and easily punctured his flesh. Blood blossomed from it and leaked out. It stared at his arm, fascinated.

"Let go!" He yelled, trying to yank his arm away, but the animal was faster. It used its claws to scratch the man's face, then it sink its sharp teeth into his forearm, tearing out a chunk of flesh. He howled in pain, but the animal was far too pleased with the taste of his blood.

It pounced on him, and devoured him alive. The fact that it had been starving for several days now didn't help his chances of survival. When the man had stopped screaming and struggling, it continued to feast, until it felt satisfied.

Finally, it turned, looking down the dark alley. It's master would free it if it caught the girl with wings? A life of feasting on men like this? That would be paradise.

A coldblooded smile spread on it's lips that dripped red with blood. It believed that it could do an easy job like that.

It turned and began to run, searching for the scent of the mysterious girl with wings.


	14. Fourteen

_**"Love is a vicious motivator." - Sherlock Holmes**_

 **C** **hapter Fourteen:**

Leona limped through the darkened streets of London. Her thin clothes didn't protect against the hefty chill, of night. Leona shivered and her wings twitched instinct telling her to wrap herself in them, but she didn't. A cough rose in her throat and she hunched over, shuddering. She had to find Sherlock and John, she had to get back home.

If Leona could get overhead, she might have a better chance ― but she needed her wings to do that, and that wasn't an option.

Leona made it to the of the darkened street. She was thankful for the night ― not many people were outside and, by comparison, not many people could see her. At least, she hoped.

Leona needed a way back. She needed thicker clothes. She needed Sherlock, but she did not know how to get any of these things. Her stomach growled, but Leona tried not to think about that either. She continued to walk down the sidewalk and she saw car headlights ahead. Panicking, Leona ran to hide behind a pair of rubbish bins, waiting quietly until it passed.

When it finally did, Leona stood straight again and hurried down the sidewalk. She couldn't do this all night, and wander around in the dark! Leona heard another growl. This one was louder, but it wasn't Leona's stomach. Leona felt the hair on the back of her neck rise, and she froze in place, listening. Something shifted from the cans a few houses behind her.

Leona wasted no time. She ran as fast as she could, her wings pressed to her back. She heard pound of what could only be footsteps behind her. She didn't look back, she waved motioned with her head for a rubbish bin, knocking it over behind her. The thing chasing her jumped over it with ease, and continued to chase her.

Her heart was racing as she looked frantically for a way out. Whatever was behind her was gaining speed, she couldn't out run it. Leona turned and ran in the street just as a car was coming through. She ran past the car as it frantically skidded to a halt. The thing jumped on top of its hood, not wasting a second. Leona tried as hard as she could to knock things in its path, trash, boxes, even a sign, but the thing chasing her was agile and did not give up.

Finally, she felt something tearing into her back, sending her sprawling towards the asphalt. Her chin hit the ground and she bit her tongue and felt blood well in her mouth. Her back stung from its claws, but Leona quickly rolled over just before teeth connected with her face.

Leona stared at who it was. It was the girl that Mortiarty bought when he bought her. Her pupils were dilated to a dangerous size and her teeth coated in fresh blood. Leona held out her wrists just as she slashed again. Her claws went through her ropes, but it also dug into her hand, filleting the skin. She bared her teeth again, but Leona kicked the girl off, and into the street. Then, she scrambled to her feet and began to run.

Her hand was bleeding awfully badly, but Leona ignored that. The girl raced behind her, occasionally managing to scratch her wings with her claws. Slowly, the tape began to peel away. Leona realized this and reached behind her trying to yank at the tape to free her wings. The girl snapped her jaw at Leona, nearly getting a finger as Leona worked desperately.

The girl climbed on a trash bin and launched herself at Leona. Leona saw and ducked, trying to turn around and run the opposite direction, but she tripped over her own legs in the process.

The girl jumped on her, her teeth full of saliva with bits of flesh in between them tried to rip out her face. Leona held her back with her hands, pushing the girl away from her, and trying to keep herself away. Her hands found Leona's face, and clawed from her right eye to her nose.

Leona screamed, moving her hands to cover the blood in her eyes. The girl continued her attack, her teeth digging into her shoulder and her hands cutting up her wrists and arms. Leona used her ablitity and pushed the girl off her, making her go flying and landing in the street.

Leona tried to crawl away from the girl desperately, not having the energy to run. The girl hissed, and got up to jump back on her, but then a car came plowing down the street, hitting the girl and making her go flying. Leona watched in horror as the girl hit the ground with a disgusting thud, her body twitching for a moment before going completely still.

The driver pulled his car over and stared at the dead girl. Leona didn't care to hear what he said or did afterwards. Slowly, carefully, she picked herself up and started to limp away.

Leona only managed to get to an alleyway about five minutes from where the dead girl was, but that was enough for her. She heard mice and rats scuttling at her feet, so she kept her knees to her chest so they wouldn't bite at her toes. A few of them approached anyway. She flicked her fingers, sending them flying against the wall opposite to her, their small necks snapped.

Leona breathed heavily for several minutes, her head leaning back and her eyes slowly closing shut. She saw someone at the end of the alley just before she fainted.

Leona woke up in a bed the next day. She sniffed and immediately smelt the School. Her eyes widened and she scrambled to get up. Her entire body trembled, there were wires connecting her to the machines around her, all of them beeping and buzzing and humming and blaring,

Leona covered her ears, trying not to panic, but not doing quite a good job at it. Her heart beat fast and tears filled her eye. Then, she felt someone touch her leg. Leona jumped but looked at who it was.

Mycroft sat in a chair beside her. Leona stared at him, tears slipping past her cheeks. "Lay back down," he ordered, his voice tired. "You aren't well, yet."

Leona tried to swallow, but it was thick and she was still shaking. She did as she was told anyway, her eyes closed tight. She was scared. She was really scared. "You aren't back at Baskerville. You aren't at the School. It's just a hospital room." Leona nodded weakly, sniffing. "What is the last thing you remember?"

Leona swallowed, her throat coarse. She was thirsty, "D. . . D―Dark alley. Gi―Girl chase. . . Mo. . . Mo-tary. . ."

"Okay," Mycroft nodded. "Thank you." Leona turned to him, motioning to her throat. "Are you thirsty?" Leona nodded. He stood and stepped out of the room. Then, he returned with a glass of water. Leona sat up to drink slowly, then she laid back down.

"Wh. . . Where Shee?" Leona asked after a minute.

"They aren't here. He is. . . _busy_." Leona didn't say anything for a minute.

"I see Shee," she said, trying to sit up.

Mycroft frowned, " _No_. You need to rest. You'll see him soon enough."

Leona shook her head, and stared at Mycroft. "I see Shee _now_." Leona moved the blankets. Her foot was in a cast, and there were bandages on her arms and around her waist. She realized that something was covering her eye, too. Mycroft stood and pressed a button on the side of her bed. Leona felt something go from the bag and into the needle in her arm.

Leona shuddered, glaring and trying to take it out, but her fingers were wrapped up too, making it very hard. " _No_ ," She croaked. Whatever he put in her, it was working fast ― faster than anything the Whitecoats ever gave her.

The room started to blur around the edges. Leona was beginning to panic, but her movements were sluggish and her body weak.

"I'm sorry, Leona," Mycroft apologized, "But, you'll only get yourself hurt if you do." He held her back onto the bed and a second later, she was asleep.

"... I do not care what Mycroft said! I want to see now!" Leona stirred at the loud voices.

"Please, sir, she is not _well_ yet. She still needs time to-"

"To _hell_ with that! She was missing for _two_ _full days_! If it was important enough to have her in this place then I want to see her! Open the door!" There was a short pause, but then the door unclicked and hurried footsteps came into the room.

Leona inhaled and stared at the man bent over her, her eyes unfocused and tired. " _Leona_? Leona can you hear me?" Leona whimpered, trying to curl away.

" _Sir_ -"

"Leona, it's me, John. Look, we need to get you home," John said quickly.

" _Jon_ ," Leona whimpered, shuddering.

"We need to go, Leona, Sherlock's... He..." Leona exhaled slowly, her chest burning, but at the sound of Sherlock's name, Leona slowly turned to the man.

" _Sh... Shee_? Where... Where Shee?"

"He's..." Leona saw tears full John's blue eyes and she frowned. She's never seen him cry. Why was John crying? "Leona, I'm sorry... Sherlock's _dead_."

Leona blinked, her brow furrowing. "I... No. Shee...?" Leona didn't understand. Sherlock couldn't be dead. That didn't make any sense. " _No_. Shee... No," Leona shook her head, breathing heavily. "No. Shee no _dead_. Shee _okay_. Shee..." She felt her chest tighten, as if she were a damp rag someone was trying to squeeze the water out of. "Shee... Leona no..."

"I'm sorry, Leona," John told her. There was a woman beside John, looking worriedly at Leona. "He's gone."

"No," Leona said again. " _No_!" She pushed John away, but she didn't use her hand. He flew backwards, hitting his head against the arm of a chair. "Shee _no_ dead! _No_! _Stop_! Shee _fine_! _No lies_!" Leona couldn't breathe. She couldn't think. Sherlock wasn't dead. Sherlock _wasn't_ dead.

"Calm down, Leona," the woman said softly, trying to get to the buttons that Mycroft had pressed to make her to go sleep. Leona did not want to sleep anymore. She wanted Sherlock. John was lying to her - Sherlock _couldn't_ be dead.

Leona screamed and the screens of the monitors beside her imploded. The Windows cracked and then shattered. Glass was flying and the machines began to smoke and sizzle. The woman began to panic, hurriedly beginning to unplug essential things, but Leona didn't care about her.

She glared at John who was starting to get off the floor. "Leona-"

"You _lie_!" Leona screamed, her usual dull brown eye glowing with emotion and power. Her pupil were dialated and her face contorted in pain. " _You lie_!" She screamed again, and John grimanced, covering his ears. A high pitched buzzing had grown and sparked pain behind his temple.

" _Leona_ -!" John gasped, suddenly feeling the full pressure of her power. He felt as if his insides were being compressed and flattened, as if his heart was going to stop any minute.

" _Shee no dead_! Jon _lie_ , Jon-" Her voice began to choke with sobs as she curled into her knees, crying.

"Leona... _Please_ ," John gasped, feeling as if he were being choked. He felt his heart burn from the extortion and he shuddered, clutching his chest.

The nurse loomed behind Leona and plunged a needle into her neck. As soon as it broke skin and Leona recognized what had happened, she screamed and panicked, but it was too late.

The nurse plunged the contents of her needle into Leona's body. The inside was thick and dark, something Mycroft had prescribed personally. Leona gasped, her hand raising to yank the needle out. She had hardly touched the woman's wrist but a second later, the nurse screamed in agony. She stumbling back, holding her hand, which was twisted at an inhumane angle.

Leona had fallen back on the bed, her wings flapping, getting tangled in the sheets, and she was gasping madly. Her thickly bandaged fingers fiddling with the needle that was still half in her neck, but her hands were shaking and she was obviously in the middle of a panic attack.

John felt some of her power relax and he gulped in air, bent over and gasping. When he finally caught his breath, he saw Leona, who was sprawled out on the bed, staring at the bright ceiling, completely petrified. She was muttering nonsense - like she used to when they first found her. He heard something along the lines of ' _no_ ', ' _sharps_ ' and ' _Whitecoats_ ' but everything else was gibberish.

However, whatever drug the nurse had given her, it was working quickly as she began to relax a few minutes later and was soon in a fitful rest.

John focused on breathing for several minutes, then he stood up, and heard the woman hissing back sobs in the corner.

John hurriedly limped over to her and saw her clutching her hand to her chest, which had began to swell now. John made a face, "I'll be right back," he promised and went to the door.

Outside the room was chaos. Doctors and nurses running around, alarms blaring and people shouting all over the place. John didn't try to help. He went back into the room and began to search the medicine cabinets, and began to pull out a bottle of painkillers, a towel and roll of bandages.

He hurried back to the woman and bent down. He folded the towel and handed that plus the painkillers to her. "Bite down on this," he instructer and she did, sniffing a bit. He took her wrist gingerly and looked her in her eyes. They were a dark brown, matching her skin tone and her frizzy hair. "Three... Two... One," he squeezed and there was a sharp crack.

The woman let out a shrilly scream, squeezing her teary eyes shut, but it died in her mouth. He held the her wrist in place firmly and used the other hand to awkwardly wrap it. It took him longer than he usually did, mainly because he usually had an assistant to help with breaks like this, but his time in the field taught him to make use of what he had.

When he finished the splint to her elbow, he stood. "Do you want some water?" He asked gently and she gave a noncommittal nod. He stood and rushed to the restroom, grabbing a paper cup from beside the sink. He came back with the water just as the woman shakingly popped two pills in her mouth. She gulped down the water and gave a small, shuddering sigh.

"What..." She said in-between huffs of pain. "What _is_ she?"

John couldn't give her an answer.


	15. Fifteen

**_"Taking your own life. Interesting expression - taking it from who? Once it over, it's not you who'll miss it. Your own death is something that happens to everybody else. Your life is not your own - keep you hands off of it." - Sherlock Holmes_**

 **Chapter Fifteen:**

There was a knocking at the door, but Leona didn't move. "Leona, dear? May I come in?" Leona didn't move, but the visitor must have taken this into account.

Shea heard the door knob jiggling before the door finally creaked open, old on its hinges. "Leona? Are you awake?" Leona moved slightly digging deeper into her blankets. "Now, I know you're grieving ― we all are, but we have to be able to move on."

Leona was still silent, even as the woman stepped closer, coming around to the side of the bed. "I brought you some food ― I know you haven't eaten in days." Ms. Hudson moved, almost about to sit down on his bed ― on Sherlock's bed ― but Leona hissed.

" _No! No! No_!" She screeched, and the woman remained standing. Leona crawled over and dug her face into it's blankets. It still smelled like him ― it had to _stay_ smelling like him. Leona breathed heavily for a few seconds, her eye squeezed shut. Leona sniffed, tears leaking from her eyes.

"Dear. . . have you taken the medicine for your eye?" Ms. Hudson asked, but she already knew her answer. She sighed and got on her knees, smoothing out her skirt before she looked up at Leona. "Let me see, dear," She said softly, but Leona moved her face away, pressing it deeper in the comforter. "Leona," The voice was a bit sterner, but it was enought to persuade her.

Slowly, Leona looked up, tears stlll stuck to her dark, long eyelashes. Her brown eye seemeed to be eternally red and puffy and held heavy bags under it. The other was still covered by the eyepatch that the doctor issued her. When Leona was attacked, the thing that did it had long, sharp claws, that supposedly caused permanent damage to her left eye.

Gingerly, Ms. Hudson took the bandage off and looked at it. It was swelling from all the tears and absolutely soaked through. The four claw marks were still there, above her eye, and going diagonally across her face. It was a lighter brown than her skin and was quickly healing, but the scar would still be there. And, her eye was worse.

The doctor prescribed eyedrops for her to use to reduce swelling and irritation, but they all knew she would never be able to see out of that eye again. The animal had absolutely decimated it, and there was nothing else she could do. Ms. Hudson reached over to grab the small bottle from the table, but Leona jerked her head, moving it back. Then she reached for the filthy eyepatch, her small fingers trying to grasp it, but Ms. Hudson moved it away.

"This is dirty," She told her. "You'll need a new one. I got a few more in the kitchen, we'll do your drops there."

Leona moved her hands to cover her injured eye, "No drops," She said, moving to hide back under the covers.

"If you don't do the drops, you eye will never get any better, Leona," Ms. Hudson said, but Leona shook her head. "Leona, please, be reasonable."

" _No_ ," She pressed, but Ms. Hudson wasn't having it. She took Leona's hand and tried to peel her off the bed. Leona stayed where she was. When Ms. Hudson realized that it was futile, she did the next best thing.

Ms. Hudson gripped the comforter and yanked them off Leona. Leona screamed, as they touched the floor, sending Ms. Hudson back a few feet. Her wings were out and she jumped out of the bed, her legs still getting tangled in the sheets. Tears flooded her eye as she tried to bring the blankets back on the bed. Her hands were shaking and she was too busy crying as she tried to quickly gather the blankets together. Ms. Hudson watched the young girl's desperation ― it brought tears to her own eyes.

Ms. Hudson dropped the bottle of eyedrop liquid an fell back into a small chair and pressed her hands to her face. Soon, both of them were sobbing to themselves.

Leona looked up, noticing that Ms. Hudson was crying. She sniffed, glancing back down at the comforter before letting it drop in her hands. She quietly picked up the bottle and stepped over to Ms. Hudson, gently pulling on her pants leg.

Ms. Hudson looked down at her, as Leona held the bottle out to her. Ms. Hudson sniffed, and smiled gently at Leona. "Oh. . . dear," She huffed, shaking her head gently. "Look at us. How would Sherlock feel if he saw this?" The thought made her chuckle, as she tapped Leona's forehead. "Lean back, alright?"

Leona nodded and obeyed quietly as Ms. Hudson dropped the liquid in her eye. Leona blinked wanting to rub at it, but Ms. Hudson said specificially not to. So, she sat there, blinking furiously, her wings ruffling and twitching behind her.

"Let me get the bandages, give me a minute," Ms. Hudson said, and got up to stand. Leona waited patiently as the woman returned with fresher looking, white, medical bandages. She sat down and moved her hair back, securing the bandage on her eye.

Ms. Hudson didn't move from the chair and Leona didn't want her too. She glanced at the floor, where the comforter was, and draped it over the chair so that it was on both of then.

Ms. Hudson wiped her eyes as she took in the scent. When she did, it made her laugh a bit, "Blimey... It _does_ smell like him," she said through tears.

Leona scooted closer to the woman and she let her. Leona rested her head on the woman's lap, and soon, both of them were sleeping.

"Leona, hurry up, we have to be leaving soon!" John said loudly, but Leona acted as though she couldn't hear him. Then, the door opened and John was in tbe room.

"Leona, we need to-why are you _still_ in bed!? We have to be there in thirty minutes!"

"No," Leona said firmly and John gave a heavy sigh.

" _Leona_...!" He groaned, rubbing his hand down his face. "I know you don't want to go, but-... C'mon! You have to - _we_ have to."

" _No_!" Leona huffed from the bed.

John stepped around the room and Leona crawled away underneath the mound of covers. "Leona! Come on! I don't have time to play games!"

" _No go_!"

" _Yes_ , go!"

" _No_! Leona _stay_."

"Leona, I am going to give you to the count of _five_ and of you aren't out of those covers, I swear I will _burn_ that bed!" Leona made some kind of noise that was between a scream and a hiss. "One... Two... _Three_..." Leona, seemed to think he was serious because before he got to five, she came slithering out from underneath the bed and unto the floor.

"Go to the washroom and take a bath," John ordered. "Your clothes are on the kitchen chair. You need to hurry - we have _thirty minutes._ "

" _No_ ," Leona moaned, staying on the floor. John raised his eyes to the air and inhaled. Then, he grabbed her by the arm and began to drag her away. Leona stayed on the floor, unmoving. Before John could drag her into the bathroom, Ms. Hudson called from down the hall.

"What in heavens name are you two doing?" She demanded, and both of them turned to the woman. Ms. Hudson's bearing gaze landed on Leona and she grimanced, but stood up. "Leona, take a bath, and hurry up, we need to be there soon! John, leave her be." She said, shooing him away. "And if I find you in there playing in the water, Leona, I will scrub you down myself."

The last statement seemed to do its trick in scaring Leona. She jumped and scurried into the bathroom, and a minute later, they heard the water going.

Leona stood silently as a tall man talked for what felt like forever. Nobody was talking, some people were crying, looking mournfully at the big black box and the hole in the ground.

Leona, however, was confused. What was the big box for? She wanted to tug on Ms. Hudson's arm and ask her, but she was crying and she didn't want her to cry more. So, she tugged on John's.

John glanced down and then scooped her up in his arms so that Leona could rest her head on his shoulder. "What box for?" Leona asked softly, staring at the huge,shiny thing.

"That... That's for Sherlock, dear," John said, his voice hard. "They made him a bed and it's inside the box."

"Why no use Shee bed at home?" Leona asked, and John shook his head, not answering his question.

When they began to lower the black bed box into the ground, Leona got upset, "What doing?! Shee going be _stuck_!" Leona spoke a bit too loudly because people around her began to shake their heads. "Jon! Shee going be _stuck_!"

"It's alright, love," he assured Leona, when tears started to fall from her cheek. Leona began to cry into his shoulder, gripping John tight. "It's okay..."

Mycroft was the last person Leona wanted to see. Not that she didn't like him, she just wanted to be alone. "Leona? Am I allowed to come in?" Leona shifted on his bed, and he took this as a yes.

Mycroft stepped in and pulled the chair over to Leona, making sure to stay as far away from his bed as possible. Leona poked her head out at him, her single eye staring dully into him. "Is it true that Mortiarty _bought_ you from the School?" Leona gave a small nod. "Along with the other girl that attacked you?" Another nod.

Mycroft did not look happy. His eyebrows knit together, as he tried to think. Leona frowned, worried and reached out a finger, poking his cheek. "Mii-croft okay?" Leona asked, scared.

"Yes, dear," He smiled. "It's you I'm worried about." He sighed, looking down. "You can't stay here, Leona. The people... The ' _Whitecoats_ ' will be coming to get you. They know you're here. It's only a matter of time before they come for you. We need to hide you, alright?" Leona was staring at him. As soon as the word ' _Whitecoat_ ' left his mouth, she was stunned.

Mycroft didn't have time to explain much more. He pulled his collar to his lips. "I have her, Lorino."

Mycroft waited a moment and Leona distinctly heard a familair woman's voice reply back. " _Copy that. You need to hurry - now that Sherlock is out of the way, they will be closing in any day now. Doctor Fiona's been really upset that the Baskerville School was found out, and she's been wanting L.E.O-54 back for ages_."

Leona froze at that name, her brown eyes flashing, as unwanted memories surfaced. Leona pushed them away, pressing her face into the bed to calm down. " _They've been prepping a few 'Erasers' to bring her in."_

Mycroft turned to Leona, "Now, closely," he said. "Tonight, be by that window. I will come get you." He handed her a sheet of paper. "Leave this on the nightstand, alright?" Leona looked down at it. It looked like her handwriting and read, ' _I find Shee_ ' and then her name on the bottom.

"You'll be with a few of our friends, they'll help you." Leona nodded and Mycroft smiled. "There isn't anything to worry about," he assured. "We'll keep you safe." Leona jumped out, wrapping her arms around Mycroft.

"We find Shee?" Leona asked and Mycroft didn't say anything for a moment.

" _Yes_ ," he said gently. "We'll find Sherlock."

Leona waited until that night and did as she was told, placing the sheet of paper on the nightstand. Just as she went to the window and opened it, she heard a knock on the door. Leona turned back, eyes wide, before acting quickly, jumping out of the window, her wings extended as she waited near the roof, hiding near the edge.

Leona strained her ears to hear over the loud commotion of the city. " _Leona_?" It was Ms. Hudson. Leona's heart plumented, and she stepped back, " _Leona? Where are you_?" A second later, Leona heard a scream.

Tears blurred Leona's eyes, and she turned away. They would come looking for her soon, but Leona couldn't stay ― like Mycroft said, they were going to find Sherlock. Leona raised her wings to go fly again. Then, something like a whizzing sound went through the air, and searing pain went through her wing.

Leona fell to her knees, wanting to scream, but knowing not to draw attention to herself. Blood coated her fingers as she gripped her injured wing. She hear a few more sharp whizzing and her heart began to speed up. She could hear footsteps near the door of the platform leading to the roof. If she didn't move fast, she wouldn't be able to get away at all.

Leona ran to the side of the building and jumped. With a great gust of her wings, she forced herself into the air. She covered her head with her hands as she went as bullets flew past her, a few knicking the sides of her legs and wings, but otherwise, she was safe.

Leona panted, trying to get as far away as she could ― Mycroft didn't tell her where exactly she was going. She didn't know how to get out of the city. She didn't know where to go. She was lost, and her wing was bleeding, dripping down to the sky below. But she couldn't stop now ― if she wasn't far away enough. And, she was injured; the Erasers could find her in _seconds_.

No, it'd be better to stay in the air. It would be better to stay away from Jon and Ms. Hudson. If someone were shooting at her, they would shoot at them. Leona didn't want anyone else to die ― she knew that for certain.

Leona steadied her breathing, closing her eyes for a minute. A smile tugged gently at her lips. She didn't realize how much she missed flying. Despite the pain, Leona giggled, feeling the air through her fingers. She loved this. She loved flying. She loved being free.

Then, something pierced her wing again, Leona's eyes widened and a scream past her lips. Her wing curled, and Leona began to tilt, veering to the side again. Tears of pain blurred past her eyes as she began to fall through the clouds and to the city below.


End file.
